"Well, I do think we shall have some fun; but I hope Melchior won't make me take my own pills to prove their good qualities—that will be no joke."
"O no, Num is kept on purpose for that. What else is the fool good for?"
The next week was employed as we anticipated. Boxes of pills of every size, neatly labelled, bottles of various mixtures, chiefly stimulants, were corked and packed up. Powders of anything were put in papers; but, at all events, there was nothing hurtful in them. All was ready, and accompanied by Num (Jumbo and Fleta being left at home) we set off, Melchior assuming the dress in which we had first met him in the wagon, and altering his appearance so completely, that he would have been taken for at least sixty years old. We now travelled on foot with our dresses in bundles, each carrying his own, except Num, who was loaded like a pack-horse, and made sore lamentations:
"Can't you carry some of this?"
"No," replied I, "it is your own luggage; every one must carry his own."
"Well, I never felt my spangled dress so heavy before. Where are we going?"
"Only a little way," replied Timothy, "and then you will have nothing more to do."
"I don't know that. When master puts on that dress, I have to swallow little things till I'm sick."
"It's all good for your health, Num."
"I'm very well, I thank'e," replied the poor fellow; "but I'm very hot and very tired."