“Then will you not ride home with us? You will then be ready to start with my father.”
“I shall be happy to do so.”
“I think that will be much the best plan. Pompey, open the carriage door for the young gentleman.”
Our hero was about to say that he could just as well open the door for himself, but he reflected that it was best to adapt himself to the customs of those he was with. He bowed, therefore, and waited till the coachman had opened the door for him, and stepped into the carriage. The lady signed to him to take a seat beside her, and the door was closed.
“Home, Pompey,” said she, briefly.
The coachman ascended to his seat, and the spirited grays were soon whirling the party rapidly homeward.
It was a new position for our hero, and he felt it to be so. His parents had never been rich, and latterly had been very poor. Living in a small country village, he had never even seen so elegant a carriage as that in which he was now riding He sank back upon the luxuriously cushioned seat, and he could not help thinking how pleasant it would be if he could command so comfortable a conveyance whenever he wanted to ride out. But another thought succeeded this. If he were blind, like the gentleman whom he was to take charge of, it would be a very poor compensation to ride in a luxurious carriage. After all, things were not so unequal as they seemed at first sight.
“Since you are to be my father's traveling companion,” said the lady, “perhaps you will not object to telling us your name.”
“Certainly,” said our hero, “my name is Herbert Mason.”
“Are you going from home for the first time?” inquired the lady.