Ernest cocked his revolver and pointed it.
“At your peril!” he said.
“So be it,” said Jeremy, and he walked up to the cart.
Ernest dropped his weapon.
“It is mean of you, Jeremy,” he said. “You know I can’t fire at you.”
“Of course you can’t, old fellow. Come, skip out of that! you are keeping the mail. I have a horse ready for you, a slow one; you won’t be able to run away on him.”
Ernest obeyed, feeling rather small, and in half an hour was back at his own house.
Mr. Alston was waiting for him.
“Good-morning, Ernest,” he said, cheerfully. “Went out driving and come back riding, eh?” Ernest looked at him, and his brown cheek flushed.
“You have played me a dirty trick,” he said.