If these were some of the inconveniences of Mr. Skimpole’s childhood, it assuredly possessed its advantages too.  On the journey he had a very good appetite for such refreshment as came in our way (including a basket of choice hothouse peaches), but never thought of paying for anything.  So when the coachman came round for his fee, he pleasantly asked him what he considered a very good fee indeed, now—­a liberal one—­and on his replying half a crown for a single passenger, said it was little enough too, all things considered, and left Mr. Jarndyce to give it him.

It was delightful weather.  The green corn waved so beautifully, the larks sang so joyfully, the hedges were so full of wild flowers, the trees were so thickly out in leaf, the bean-fields, with a light wind blowing over them, filled the air with such a delicious fragrance!  Late in the afternoon we came to the market-town where we were to alight from the coach—­a dull little town with a church-spire, and a marketplace, and a market-cross, and one intensely sunny street, and a pond with an old horse cooling his legs in it, and a very few men sleepily lying and standing about in narrow little bits of shade.  After the rustling of the leaves and the waving of the corn all along the road, it looked as still, as hot, as motionless a little town as England could produce.

At the inn we found Mr. Boythorn on horseback, waiting with an open carriage to take us to his house, which was a few miles off.  He was overjoyed to see us and dismounted with great alacrity.

“By heaven!” said he after giving us a courteous greeting.  “This a most infamous coach.  It is the most flagrant example of an abominable public vehicle that ever encumbered the face of the earth.  It is twenty-five minutes after its time this afternoon.  The coachman ought to be put to death!”

“Is he after his time?” said Mr. Skimpole, to whom he happened to address himself.  “You know my infirmity.”

“Twenty-five minutes!  Twenty-six minutes!” replied Mr. Boythorn, referring to his watch.  “With two ladies in the coach, this scoundrel has deliberately delayed his arrival six and twenty minutes.  Deliberately!  It is impossible that it can be accidental!  But his father—­and his uncle—­were the most profligate coachmen that ever sat upon a box.”

While he said this in tones of the greatest indignation, he handed us into the little phaeton with the utmost gentleness and was all smiles and pleasure.

“I am sorry, ladies,” he said, standing bare-headed at the carriage-door when all was ready, “that I am obliged to conduct you nearly two miles out of the way.  But our direct road lies through Sir Leicester Dedlock’s park, and in that fellow’s property I have sworn never to set foot of mine, or horse’s foot of mine, pending the present relations between us, while I breathe the breath of life!” And here, catching my guardian’s eye, he broke into one of his tremendous laughs, which seemed to shake even the motionless little market-town.