“DO YOU KNOW A FAMILY NAMED BUTLER AROUND HERE, DRIVER?” BEGAN ELINOR DIPLOMATICALLY.
Elinor’s bosom friends were too alive to her own poignant anguish even to smile over this enlightening description of Tom Butler and his powltry, but it was a very difficult position and Nancy, irrepressible giggler that she was, held her breath until her face was purple and tears of laughter filled her eyes.
“An’ what may you be wantin’ with Tom Butler, Miss?”
“I—I thought I’d like to call on him and his family,” faltered Elinor, not daring to look at Mary and feeling strangely glad that Billie and Nancy were sitting with their backs to her so that they could not see her crimson face.
“Is it from America ye’ve come?” asked the man, stirring up the old horse with his whip.
“Yes.”
“Ye be knowin’ some of the Butler kin there, I’m thinkin’?” asked the man with some excitement.
“Yes.”
“Get along with you, you slow-movin’ beast,” exclaimed the driver, unexpectedly addressing himself to his nag. “Shure and the divvel’s put weights in your hind feet. Ye’re a snail and no horse at all, at all.”