“THERE,” said Margot, breathlessly, “Stella said that you’d drive me down towards the station; the way you’ve just come, you know—— Can I get into the trap?”
She stood hatless and excited, looking up into the face of the rector’s garden-boy, who was standing at the pony’s head. He stared down at her sheepishly enough, and with the most evident surprise at such an unexpected proposal.
“But, Miss Stella, she said I wor to wait for her,” he volunteered at last. “Them wor my orders—to wait for Miss Stella.”
“But I can’t help that, I’m afraid,” urged Margot. “I’ve got to go; so do you mind getting in, and we’ll start.”
But the lad still stared on, and made no movement of any kind. Margot stamped her foot with annoyance.
“But Stella said—— Well, go and ask her if you like. She’s over there.” She pointed vaguely in the direction of the hockey-field as she spoke, and the boy turned his head.
“Well, if Miss Stella gives me the orders herself!”
“Go and ask her, I said,” enjoined Margot. “I’ll look after the pony. I know him quite well. Oh, do hurry, there’s the most tremendously important thing to do!”
Much overawed by Margot’s assurance of manner, the boy, with a parting “Whoa there, now!” to the pony, delivered up the reins and departed on his errand.
“If Miss Stella wor to say——” were his last words.