As he spoke he got up, and bowing respectfully to Laura, and smiling gratefully to the children, who were busy putting all the things belonging to the gardener's wife where she had directed, he began to walk away; but he walked quite feebly, and poor Martha's shoes were worn out, and she limped as she followed him.
Little Kate had just taken her seat in the donkey-chaise.
"How tired they look!" said she, as she saw them going slowly on.
"I will run after them and direct them to our house," said Laura. "I am sure mama will help them to a night's lodging."
"And Laura, dear," said Kate, getting out of the chaise, "if Edward does not mind walking, I don't; so tell them—shall we Edward?—to get in instead of us."
"Yes, yes," said Edward, eagerly.
"That I will, dear children," Laura answered; and stopping the old man and his daughter, she succeeded, after a great deal of persuasion, in making them accept the children's offer, and then helped them in.
Much as they liked a drive in a donkey-chaise, no drive in the world could have made these children so happy as they felt in their walk home. Their hearts full of joy, they bounded along, jumping over tree stumps, running up and down banks, and never thinking of either fatigue, hunger, or thirst.
"Here we come, John," they cried, as they approached their own door, and saw John coming out after his day's work, his basket on his shoulder.
The donkey-chaise had got behind in climbing the hill at the entrance of the town, but it came up at this moment. John's basket fell from his hand, and fell heavily on the door-step, and he rushed towards it, crying,