AN ELEGY.
Bryda had just reached the cross roads where she had met the Squire when a heavy lumbering cart came slowly in sight, which she recognised as Mrs Henderson's. If Jack was driving it, she would at once tell him what had happened; but Jack was not likely to be driving at that snail pace.
It was Jack, however, indulging in a slumber as the old horse, who knew his way in the district as well or better than his master, plodded soberly along to his destination.
'Oh! it is Jack!' Bryda exclaimed. 'Jack, Jack, do stop!'
Jack Henderson opened his sleepy eyes and called 'Wo, wo!' to the horse.
'Oh, Jack, will you take me up, I am so tired and so—'
Jack brought his huge frame down into the dirty road with a mighty thud, and said,—
'Why, Bryda, what's up? What are you doing here? Lor'! don't take on like this,' for poor Bryda's self-possession suddenly forsook her, and she began to cry helplessly, like a tired and frightened child.
'There, get up,' Jack said, 'and I'll take you home, but for mercy's sake don't cry.'
Bryda climbed up the steps of the waggon, and Flick, looking highly satisfied with the arrangement, rubbed his nose against Jack's leg, and whined as if to say, 'I know she will be safe now,' waited with his red tongue lolling out of his big mouth, panting hard after the manner of dogs on a hot day, till Jack gathered the slack reins in his hand and mounted to the seat by Bryda's side.