"Been working hard?" he said good-naturedly. "Seems a bit strange at first."
"I don't mind the work; but—it does all seem very rough," said Geoff.
There was a slight quiver in his voice, but Jowett said no more till they were jogging along on their way to the station. Geoff's spirits had got up a little again by this time. He liked to feel the reins between his fingers, even though the vehicle was only a milk-cart, and the steed a sadly broken-winded old gray pony; and he was rather proud at having managed to steer safely through the yard gate, as to which, to tell the truth, he had felt a little nervous.
"Is there anything I can do for you on my way through town?" asked Jowett. "I'll be in your part of the world to-night."
"Are you going to sleep at the livery stables?" asked Geoff.
Jowett nodded.
"I wish——" began the boy. "If I'd thought of it, I'd have written a letter for you to post in London. But there's no time now."
Jowett looked at his watch—a very good silver watch it was—"I don't know that," he said. "I can get you a piece of paper and an envelope at the station, and I'll see that your letter gets to—wherever it is, at once."
"Thank you," said Geoff. "And Jowett"—he hesitated. "You've been very good to me—would you mind one thing more? There's some one I would like to hear from sometimes, but I don't want to give my address. Could I tell them—her—it's my sister—to write to your place, and you to send it to me?"
"To be sure," said Jowett. "But I won't give my address in the country. You just say to send on the letter to the care of