this, than hastily explaining the nature of his errand, he went off at full speed to the appointed place, and although when he arrived there it was full two minutes after the time set, there was as yet no pony-chaise to be seen.  Greatly relieved, Kit leaned against a lamp-post to take breath, and waited.  Before long the pony came trotting round the corner of the street, and behind him sat the little old gentleman, and the little old lady.

Upon the pony’s refusing to stand at the proper place, the old gentleman alighted to lead him; whereupon the pony darted off with the old lady, and stopped at the right house, leaving the old gentleman to come panting on behind.

It was then that Kit presented himself at the pony’s head, and touched his hat with a smile.

“Why, bless me,” cried the old gentleman, “the lad is here!  My dear, do you see?”

“I said I’d be here, sir,” said Kit, patting Whisker’s neck.  “I hope you’ve had a pleasant ride, sir.  He’s a very nice little pony.”

“My dear,” said the old gentleman.  “This is an uncommon lad; a good lad, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure he is,” rejoined the old lady, “A very good lad, and I am sure he is a good son.”

Kit acknowledged these expressions of confidence by touching his hat again and blushing very much.  Then the old gentleman helped the old lady out, and they went into the office—­talking about him as they went, Kit could not help feeling, and a few minutes later he was called in.

Kit entered in a great tremor, for he was not used to going among strange ladies and gentlemen, and the tin boxes and bundles of dusty papers had in his eyes an awful and a venerable air.  Mr. Witherden, the notary, was a bustling gentleman, who talked loud and fast.

“Well, boy,” said Mr. Witherden, “you came to work out that shilling,—­not to get another, hey?”

“No indeed, sir,” replied Kit, taking courage to look up.  “I never thought of such a thing.”

“Now,” said the old gentleman, Mr. Garland, when they had asked some further questions of Kit, “I am not going to give you anything.”  “But,” he added, “perhaps I may want to know something more about you, so tell me where you live.”

Kit told him, and the old gentleman wrote down the address with his pencil.  He had scarcely done so, than there was a great uproar in the street, and the old lady, hurrying to the window, cried that Whisker had run away, upon which Kit darted out to the rescue, and the others followed.  Even in running away, however, Whisker was perverse, for he had not gone far when he suddenly stopped.  The old lady then stepped into her seat, and Mr. Abel, her son, whom they had come to fetch, into his.  The old gentleman took his place also, and they drove away, more than once turning to nod kindly to Kit, as he watched them from the road.

When Kit reached home, to his amazement he found the pony and his owners there too.