“Thank you, Miss,” said Jan.
“And don’t put your brush in your mouth,” said Amabel.
“Oh, dear, no, Miss,” said Jan. It had never struck him that one could want to put a paint-brush in one’s mouth.
At this point Amabel’s overwrought energies suddenly failed her, and she burst out crying. “I don’t know how I shall get over the wall,” said she.
“Don’t ’ee cry, Miss. I’ll help you,” said Jan.
“I can’t walk any more,” sobbed Amabel, who was, indeed, tired out.
“I’ll take ’ee on my back,” said Jan. “Don’t ’ee cry.”
With a good deal of difficulty, Amabel was hoisted up, and planted her big feet in Jan’s hands. It was no light pilgrimage for poor Jan, as he climbed the winding path. Amabel was peevish with weariness; her bundles were sadly in the way, and at every step a cup-moss or marchantia dropped out, and Amabel insisted upon its being picked up. But they reached the wall at last, and Jan got her over, and made two or three expeditions after the missing mosses, before the little lady was finally content.
“Good-by, Bogy,” she said, at last, holding up her face to be kissed. “And thank you very much. I’m not frightened of you, Bogy.”
As Jan kissed her, he said, smiling, “What is your name, love?”