Mavis had already climbed up, and was settling herself on a high valley of rolled carpets between two mountain ranges formed by the piano and the parlor bookcases.  With anxious eyes she looked at minor chains of packing-cases that contained the best china, the mantel ornaments, the hand-painted pictures.  Inside a basket on her knees their cat was mewing disconsolately, despite well-buttered paws.  The two big horses, one in front of the other, continuously tinkled the metal disks on their forehead bands; Mr. Allen and other neighbors came out of their shops; Miss Yorke and the clerks from the office filled the pavement; children gathered about the wagon staring silently, and Miss Waddy on the opposite pavement waved her handkerchief and said “Oh, dear! oh, dear!”

“Good luck!”

“Thank you, thank you kindly.”  Dale moved about briskly, shaking hands with every one.  Already he had abandoned all trace of his ancient official costume.  In cord breeches and leather gaiters, his straw hat on the back of his head, he looked thoroughly farmer-like, and he seemed to have assumed the jovial independent manner as well as the clothes appropriate to the man who has no other master but the winds and the weather.

“So long, Mr. Allen.  Put in a good word for me at the Kennels.”

“I will so, Mr. Dale.”

“Good-by, Mr. Silcox.  Hope you’ll honor us with a call whenever you’re passing.  And if you can, give me a lift in the Courier.  I may say it’s my intention to patronize their advertisement columns regular, soon’s ever I begin to feel my feet under me.”

“See Rodchurch Gossip next issue,” said Mr. Silcox significantly.

“Thanks.  You’re a trump.”

“Good-by, Miss Yorke.”  And he laughed. “’Pon my soul, I’m surprised it’s still Miss Yorke; but it’ll be Mrs. before long, I warrant.”

“Oh, Mr. Dale!”

“There, so long,” and he shook Miss Yorke’s hand warmly.  “And take my excuse if I bin a bit of a slave-driver now and then.  I didn’t mean it.”

“We’ve no complaints,” said one of the clerks.  “Good luck, sir!”

Then Dale told his carter to make a start of it, and the wagon creaked, jolted, slowly lumbered away.

Though they moved at a foot pace, it was not easy traveling in the wagon; the china boxes bumped and rattled, the piano swayed so much that all its strings vibrated, and the cat leaped frantically in the basket; but Mavis felt no inconvenience.  She was full of hope.  For more than a mile Dale walked beside the shaft horse, echoing the “Coom in then” and “Oot thar” of the man with the leader, and the sound of the voices, the plod of the iron shoes, and the bell-like tinkle of the harness were all pleasant to hear.  The whole thing seemed to her picturesque and interesting, like a small episode in the Old Testament, and imaginary words offered themselves as suitable to describe it.  “Therefore that day her husband gathered all that was theirs, and set her behind his horses and they journeyed into another place.”