“A great country,” said I.
“Gray,” observed the elderly lady, in an under tone, looking very hard at the girl, who was still standing on the little board at the back of the cariole, and who coolly and saucily surveyed the traveling party, “Gray, is that a Norwegian girl?”
“Yes, madam; she is my postillion, only she rides behind, according to the Norwegian custom.”
“Dear me!” cried the young lady, “how very interesting!”
“And dangerous too,” I observed.
The lady looked puzzled. She was thinking of dangers to which I had no reference.
“Dangerous?” exclaimed the young lady.
“Yes; she came near breaking my neck down that hill;” and here I gave the party a brief synopsis of the adventure.
“Devilish odd!” growled the old Englishman, impatiently. “Good-day, sir. Come, get up!”
The elderly lady said nothing, but looked suspicious.