She might well put this question, for Matilda neighed nearly all the way.
“Why, pa,” said Inie, “the horse laughs at everything; he laughs at the trees, he laughs at the flowers, and at the ponds. He laughs at every horse he meets; he laughed at the cows cropping the furze, and at the geese on the common, and now he is laughing at that old horse with its forefeet tied together. What are the old horse’s forefeet tied together for, pa?”
“To keep him from running away, darling.”
“And what does this horse keep on laughing for?”
“Why, he is so proud, you know, of being harnessed to so beautiful a caravan, that he can’t help laughing. He wants to draw the attention of every creature he sees to it. He will be sure to dream about it to-night, and if he wakes up any time before morning he will laugh again.”
“Oh!” said Inie, and went on eating her currant-cake thoughtfully.
In about a quarter of an hour we had started again. Lovat, who had been aft having a view at the back door window, came running forward and said excitedly,—
“Oh! pa, there is a gentleman with a carriage and pair behind us, making signs and shouting and waving his whip.”
I pulled to the side at once, and the party in the waggonette passed, the gentleman who handled the ribbons scowling and looking forked lightning at us. No wonder, the idea of being stopped on the road by itinerant gipsies!
Well, in driving a large caravan, as you cannot look behind nor see behind, it is as well to keep pretty near your own side of the road. This was a lesson I determined to lay to heart. But if seeing behind me was impossible, hearing was quite as much so, unless it had been the firing of a six-pounder. This was owing to the rattling of things inside the van, for, it being but our trial trip, things had not settled shipshape.