“Shoot the moon they—Is this all, sir?” said the flyman, who caught sight of Tom.
The boy nodded, and felt indignant as well as troubled, for he had learned a little about public opinion concerning his uncle.
“Be careful,” he said; “some of those things are glass.”
“All right, sir; we’ll be careful enough. Look alive, Jem. Where will you have the box as come down by’s mornin’s goods?”
“On the footboard. Won’t break us down, will it?”
“Tchah! not it. On’y about a hundredweight.”
By the time the luggage was stowed on and about the fly, Uncle Richard came out, and expressed his satisfaction.
“Rather a lonely place in winter, Tom,” he said, as he entered the stably-smelling old fly.
“Yes, but very beautiful,” replied Tom. “Have we far to go?”
“Three miles, my lad, to the village, and a quarter of a mile further to the house.”