But Joseph only said “Umph,” and went in doors.
“We will telegraph to Aymer from Basingstoke,” said Mr. Aston as they started, and after that there was silence.
The monotonous click-clack of the horses’ feet lulled the tired child into blissful drowsiness. He had had too many ups and downs in his eleven years of life to be alarmed at this unexpected turn of fortune, and he was still too young to grasp how great a change had been wrought in that life since the hot hour he had spent lying by the mile-stone on the Great Road.
As they clattered through the narrow streets of the country town in the light of the long July evening Christopher sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“I’ve been here before,” he volunteered.
Mr. Aston effected a skilful pass between a donkey cart and two perambulators.
“Yes, quite right, you have. What do you remember about it, Christopher?”
The boy looked dubious and a little distressed, but just then they passed a chemist’s shop.
“We went there,” he cried. “Mother got something for her cough, so she couldn’t have any supper. 14 We stayed at a horrid old woman’s, a nasty, cross thing.”
“You did not go to the Union, then?”