“Do join in the chorus:
Still he’d sing fol de rol iddle ol——”
“I’ll have my trunk at once!” he cried furiously, and sprang off the stile.
“Fol de rol arilol lay!” she wound up with easy enjoyment.
“Give me my trunk,” he commanded again.
“What—on this lonely road—in this weather!”
“That’s my business!”
“No, it isn’t—it’s mine.” She touched up Methusalem and turned his eager nose homewards.
Will ran round with the turning animal.
“Give me my trunk!” He was white with determination.