"Um! You've got a brave step to go yet. We're a good three miles from Hillside. Have 'ee come far?"
"From Seacombe," Mona admitted reluctantly.
"My word! It's a brave long walk for a young thing like you to take alone. Why, you wouldn't reach Hillside till after dark—not at the rate you could go. You look tired out already."
"I am," sighed Mona, pathetically.
"Here, jump up quick, or my old nag'll fall asleep, and I'll have the works of the world to wake un up again."
Mona laughed. "Thank you," she said, eyes and voice full of gratitude as she clambered up the wheel, and perched herself on the high, hard seat beside her new friend. "I'm very much obliged to you, sir. I don't believe I'd ever have got there, walking all the way. I didn't know seven miles was so far."
"I don't believe you would. A mile seems like two when you ain't in good trim for it, and the more miles you walk, the longer they seem. Gee up, you old rogue you!" This to the horse, who, after much coaxing, had consented to move on again.
"I never felt so tired in all my life before," sighed Mona, in a voice so faint and weary that her companion looked at her sharply.
"Had any dinner?" he asked.
Mona shook her head. "No, I—I missed my dinner. I—I came away in a hurry."