‘There be Russetdeane church spire!’ he said.
Bradley glanced impatiently in the direction so indicated, and saw, peeping through a cluster of trees, some two miles off, the spire in question.
He nodded, and ordered the boy to drive on. Then turning to Alma, he saw her eyes twinkling with merry laughter.
‘You see we are found out already!’ she whispered. ‘He thinks we are a runaway couple, and so, after all, we are.’
The carriage rumbled along for another mile, and ever and anon they caught the eyes of the weird boy, peeping backward; but being forewarned, they sat, primly enough, upon their good behaviour.
Suddenly the carriage stopped again.
‘Missis!’ croaked the weird boy.
‘Well?’ said Alma, smiling up at him.
‘Where be I a-driving to? Back to the “Wheatsheaf”?’
‘No; right to the church door,’ answered Alma, laughing.