“’Ou ’at wite on ’e bys,” said a voice which was not needed to confirm the fact.
At length the light of the twenty-fifth glorious day began to steal in long darting lines among the foliage that had been a shelter from its rays all day. As the company assembled, it was found to have been an unusually bad year for blackberries, though why it should have been the most imaginative did not venture to suggest.
As they started homeward Laura said:
“Now sit right still, Allie, for fear you should fall out, for we shall go very fast indeed.”
There was little need for the warning, as Allie was well wedged down in front, and well wrapped up in an extra shawl of Laura’s, because she forgot to bring his little overcoat.
But by-and-by the whip worked quietly out of its broken holder, and no eyes but the two bright, observant eyes in the littlest head saw that in a minute it must fall.
The little fellow tried to dart forward, but the great shawl held him too securely.
“Sit still, Allie,” said Laura.
Poor Allie seemed to think he might as well, too. His warnings had saved nothing, yet; but still from his huge roll of woolen he said:
“’E ’ip dop, Laula.”