“What be that for?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” answered Lizzie, abashed; “’twas seein’ the rabbit, I think. Did ye notice the rabbit, how he did kick up his little feet and whisk his little tail?”
“Most rabbits does that,” commented Jim.
On they went, and now the cottage came in sight, the desolate cottage with its smokeless chimney and shuttered windows.
“Why it be all shut up,” exclaimed Frizzle, as he stopped before the closed door. “There b’ain’t nobody about, nor yet nothin’ stirrin’.”
He gazed towards the empty kennels and the piled up heaps of pens which the keeper had not yet found time to remove. But Lizzie did not heed him; she had risen to her feet and was endeavouring to descend from the cart.
“Here, bide a bit, ’ooman, bide a bit. Ye can’t get down by yourself. Wait till I help ye.”
He let down the tail-board and assisted her to alight, and Lizzie, staggering towards the door, beat upon it with her open palm.
“Oh, I must get in—I must get in,” she cried. “I forgot about door bein’ locked! Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! He’ll be gone!”
“There, there, that’s a job that’s easy managed,” responded Jim, and, applying his vigorous shoulder to the door, he sent it swinging inwards on its hinge.