“Yes, ma’am.”
“With people in the carriages?”
“Cer’nly, ma’am.”
“How I wish that I had lived a hundred years ago!” sighed poor Mrs Tipps.
“You’d have bin a pretty old girl by this time if you had,” thought the engine-driver, but he was too polite to give utterance to the thought.
“And what was my son doing when you passed him at that frightful speed—you could see him, I suppose?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I could see him well enough. He was talkin’ an’ laughin’, as far as I could make out, with an uncommon pretty girl.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Mrs Tipps, flushing slightly—for she was extremely sensitive,—and evidently much relieved by this information. “Well, my good man, what do you wish me to do for you? anything that is in my power to—”
“Thankee, ma’am, but I don’t want you to do nothin’ for me.”
“Then what have you to say to me?” added the old lady with a little smile that was clearly indicative of a kind little heart.