Bump, jolt, creak, on we went, and all at once Basket kicked a flint stone, and there was a tiny flash of fire.
“I’ve been to Paris and I’ve been to Dover.”
There it was again, so loud that Ike seized the reins, and by main force tried to stop the horse, which resisted with all its might, and then stopped short with the baskets giving a jerk that threatened to send them over the front ladder, on to the horse’s back.
Ike jumped down on one side and I jumped down on the other. I was not afraid, but the big fellow’s uneasiness had its effect upon me, and I certainly felt uncomfortable. There was something strange about riding along that dark road in the middle of the night, and this being my first experience of sitting up till morning the slightest thing was enough to put me off my balance.
The horse went on, and Ike and I met at the back, looked about us, and then silently returned to our seats, climbing up without stopping the horse; but we had not been there a minute before Ike bounded off again, for there once more, buzzing curiously in the air, came that curious howling song:
“I’ve been to Paris and I’ve been to Dover.”
I slipped off too, and Ike ran round, whip in hand, and gripped my arm.
“It was your larks,” he growled savagely, as I burst into a fit of laughing.
“It wasn’t,” I cried, as soon as I could speak. “Give me the whip,” I whispered.
“What for?” he growled.