“No damage done––except to the coach,” said Hawkes.
By this time the horses had become quiet and Barnes, now that the passengers were rescued, like a good skipper, left the quarter deck.
“We couldn’t have chosen a better place for our lunch,” he remarked philosophically. “How fortunate we should have broken down where we did!”
“Very fortunate!” echoed the old lady ironically.
The accident had happened upon a slight plateau, of which they accordingly took possession, tethering the horses to graze. From the branches overhead the squirrels surveyed them as if asking what manner of people were these, and the busy woodpecker ceased his drumming, cocking his head inquisitively at the intruders; then shyly drew away, mounting spirally the trunk of the tree to the hole, chiseled by his strong beak for a nest. As Barnes gazed around upon the pleasing prospect, he straightway became the duke in the comedy of the forest.
“Ha, my brothers in exile,” he exclaimed, “are not these woods more free from peril than the envious court?”
“All it wants,” said the tragedian, hungrily, “is mutton, greens and a foaming pot.”
“I can’t promise the foaming pot,” answered the manager. “But, at least, we have a well-filled hamper.”
Soon the coffee was simmering and such viands as they had brought with them––for Barnes was a far-sighted and provident manager––were spread out in tempting profusion. Near them a swift-flowing stream chattered about the stones like one of nature’s busiest gossips; it whispered to the flowers, murmured to the rushes and was voluble to the overhanging branch that dragged upon the surface of the water. The flowers on its brim nodded, the rushes waved and the branch bent as if in assent to the mad gossip of the blithesome brook. And it seemed as though all this animated conversation was caused by the encampment of the band of players by the wayside.