In two minutes he was running the chair round to the front door, and as he passed the study window a doleful moaning greeted his ear; but it ceased upon the wheels being heard.
“All right, uncle, here it is,” cried Tom; and James Brandon came out resting upon a stick, and moaning piteously, while his brother came behind bearing a great plaid shawl.
“Here, take my arm, Jem,” he said.
“I can walk by myself,” was the pettish reply. “Then you’ve come back, sir. Tired of your job, I suppose. Oh dear! oh dear!”
“I really forgot it for a bit, uncle,” said Tom humbly.
“Forgot! Yes, you boys do nothing else but forget. Ah! Oh! Oh! I’m a broken man,” he groaned, as he sank back in the chair and took hold of the handle.
“I’ll pull you, uncle,” said Tom, looking at him wonderingly.
“You pull it so awkwardly.—Oh dear me! how short my breath is!—And you get in the way so when I want to see the country. Go behind.”
“All right, uncle. Which way would you like to go? Through the village?”
“What! down there by the churchyard? Ugh! No; go along that upper lane which leads by the fir-wood and the sand-pits. The air is fit to breathe there.”