“Oh, then,” replied the shepherd, “they have gone on before, have they? Well, you’ll catch them, no doubt.”
The blacksmith’s wife, who had been a party to what was going on, now brought up a little warm ale, which quite re-established Joey; and at the same time a waggon drove up to the door, and stopped at the blacksmith’s shop.
“I must have a shoe tacked on the old mare, my friend,” said the driver. “You won’t be long?”
“Not five minutes,” replied the smith. “You’re going to London?”
“Yes, sure.”
“Here’s a poor boy that has been left behind by his father and mother somehow—you wouldn’t mind giving him a lift?”
“Well, I don’t know; I suppose I must be paid for it in the world to come.”
“And good pay too, if you earn it,” observed the blacksmith.
“Well, it won’t make much difference to my eight horses, I expect,” said the driver, looking at Joey; “so come along, youngster: you may perch yourself on top of the straw, above the goods.”
“First come in with me, child,” said the wife of the blacksmith; “you must have some good victuals to take with you—so, while you shoe the horse, John, I’ll see to the boy.”