"I would rather walk, Maam, if you please," said Ellen.
"Very well," said Mrs. Dunscombe, getting in; "Timmins, you know the way."
And off went the coach with its load; but, tired as she was,
Ellen did not wish herself in it.
Picking a passage-way out of the crowd, she and Timmins now began to make their way up one of the comparatively quiet streets.
It was a strange place that she felt. She had lived long enough in the place she had left, to feel at home there: but here she came to no street or crossing that she had ever seen before; nothing looked familiar; all reminded her that she was a traveller. Only one pleasant thing Ellen saw on her walk, and that was the sky; and that looked just as it did at home; and very often Ellen's gaze was fixed upon it, much to the astonishment of Miss Timmins, who had to be not a little watchful for the safety of Ellen's feet while her eyes were thus employed. She had taken a great fancy to Ellen, however, and let her do as she pleased, keeping all her wonderment to herself.
"Take care, Miss Ellen!" cried Timmins, giving her arm a great pull; "I declare I just saved you out of that gutter! Poor child! you are dreadfully tired, ain't you?"
"Yes, I am very tired, Miss Timmins," said Ellen; "have we much farther to go?"
"Not a great deal, dear; cheer up! we are almost there. I hope Mrs. Dunscombe will want to ride one of these days herself, and can't."
"Oh, don't say so, Miss Timmins," said Ellen, "I don't wish so, indeed."
"Well, I should think you would," said Timmins; "I should think you'd be fit to poison her; I should, I know, if I was in your place."