“One carpet-bag,” I answered, “for Paddington.”
“And a hamper,” said Joe; “you’ll find a hamper in behind there. And take care to keep it right side up, porter, for there are some pots of jam in it.”
“Who is it for?” said I; “can I look after it, and take it any where for you?”
“Why, for you, of course,” said Joe; “you don’t suppose the women would have let you go back without some of their kickshaws; and I’ve had a hare and a couple of chickens put in, and some bacon. You must eat the hare this week, mind.”
I was quite taken by surprise at this fresh instance of the thoughtful kindness of my Vale friends, and wrung Joe’s hand, mumbling out something which I meant for thanks.
“Well, good-bye, old fellow,” he said, “I’m very glad to think you’ve found your way down at last, and now, don’t forget it;” and he gave me a grip which nearly crashed all my knuckles into a jelly, and was gathering up his reins to drive off.
“But Joe, here’s your coat,” I called out, and was beginning to take it off—“you’ve forgotten your coat.”
“No, no,” said he, “keep it on—’twill be very cold to-night, and you’ll want it in the train. We’ll fetch it at Christmas, and the hamper and the jam pots too, at the same time. Lu will be sure to look after them, so mind you don’t lose ’em—Hullo! What in the world are you cutting off the direction for?”