“Tired?” she enquired, tenderly, as he sank back in the cushions.
“Foot’s painful,” he said, with a faint smile. “Good gracious!”
“What’s the matter?” asked Miss Tipping, alarmed by his manner.
“I’ve left my pipe in the garden,” said Flower, rising, “the one you gave me. I wouldn’t lose it for the world.”
“I’ll get it,” said Miss Tipping, springing out of the carriage. “Whereabouts did you leave it, do you think?”
“By the bee-hives,” said Flower, pale with excitement, as he heard Mrs. Tipping and Dick coming up from the cellar. “Make haste; somebody might take it.”
Miss Tipping darted into the house, and immediately afterwards the Tippings ascended from the cellar, attended by the landlady.
“Driver,” said Flower, sharply.
“Sir,” said the man, looking round and tenderly rubbing his back.
“Take that to the lady who has just gone in, at once,” gabbled Flower; “hurry up.”