* * *
“Hullo, Mrs Sweetapple!”
Lizzie opened her eyes and smiled vaguely; somebody had raised her head and was dusting her face with a cotton handkerchief: Lizzie sat upright, feeling still dizzy, but happy and hopeful. She had had dreams—curiously pleasant dreams—and was at first astonished at not finding herself in her bed; but presently remembered. Then a spasm of anguish crossed her face. The moon was set, the gray light of dawn shone on her companion’s face and showed forth the ghostly world about her. Would Bartlett still be there?
“I couldn’t think whatever it was,” continued the man. “Me an’ Jinny was a-joggin’ along so quiet as anything, wi’ our load, when I see’d summat a-lyin’ aside o’ the road. First I thought ’twas a bundle, then I see’d ’twas a ’ooman, an’ then I turned ye over an’ says I: ‘’Tis Mrs Sweetapple.’ You’ve a-had a bit of a tumble, haven’t ye? Ye did seem stunned-like when I did pick ye up.”
Lizzie, looking at him vaguely, supposed she must have catched her foot in something.
“Whatever be you a-doin’ out-o’-door at this time o’ marnin’?”
Lizzie collected her scattered thoughts, and resolved to make the most of this unexpected opportunity. This was Jim Frizzle, the corn-merchant’s man, who had so often driven past her house, with corn for the pheasantry and forage for the keeper’s pony, and who had even now and then halted at her own door, to deposit a bundle or two of straw for her private use.
“Be you—be you goin’ up—along our way?”
“’Ees, I be a-takin’ a truss or two o’ hay to Keeper Foster’s, an’ a sack o’ Injun carn. There’s lots o’ room in my cart; would ye like a lift?”
“Thank ye kindly, Mr Frizzle, I would indeed. It be a good thought; I be jist about tired.”