“Yes, glorious,” said Uncle Richard cheerily. “Off you go, donkey, and bring your uncle back with a good appetite for dinner.”
“All right, uncle. Now, Uncle James, hold tight.”
“Be careful, sir, be careful,” cried the invalid; and he kept up his regular moaning as Tom pushed the chair out into the lane, and then round past the mill, and on toward the woods.
“How much did your uncle spend over workpeople for that whim of his?” said the invalid, suddenly leaving off moaning and looking round.
“Oh, I don’t know, uncle; a good deal, I believe.”
“Yes, yes; oh dear me! A good deal, no doubt. Keep out of the sand; it jolts me.”
“There’s such a lot of sand along here, uncle; the carts cut the road up so, coming from the pits.”
“Yes; horrible roads. There—oh—oh—oh! Go steady.”
“All right, uncle,” said Tom; and he pushed on steadily enough right along the lane where he had chased Pete Warboys not so long before. Then the fir-wood was reached, and at last the road rose till it was no longer down between two high sand-banks crowned with furze and pine, but opened out as they reached the top of the slope which ran down past the sand-pit to the river with its shallow ford.
“Which are your uncle’s woods?” said Uncle James suddenly.