‘So am I, ma’am.  What d’ ye say, if we join company.  Care for insinuations?’

‘I want a conveyance of some sort,’ returned Mrs. Mel.

‘Object to a donkey, ma’am?’

‘Not if he’s strong and will go.’

‘Good,’ said Old Tom; and while he spoke a donkey-cart stopped in front of the Dolphin, and a well-dressed man touched his hat.

‘Get out of that damned bad habit, will you?’ growled Old Tom.  What do you mean by wearing out the brim o’ your hat in that way?  Help this woman in.’

Mrs. Mel helped herself to a part of the seat.

‘We are too much for the donkey,’ she said.

’Ha, that’s right.  What I have, ma’am, is good.  I can’t pretend to horses, but my donkey’s the best.  Are you going to cry about him?’

‘No.  When he’s tired I shall either walk or harness you,’ said Mrs. Mel.

This was spoken half-way down the High Street of Fallow field.  Old Tom looked full in her face, and bawled out: 

‘Deuce take it.  Are you a woman?’

‘I have borne three girls and one boy,’ said Mrs. Mel.

‘What sort of a husband?’

‘He is dead.’

’Ha! that’s an opening, but ’tain’t an answer.  I’m off to Beckley on a marriage business.  I ’m the son of a cobbler, so I go in a donkey-cart.  No damned pretences for me.  I’m going to marry off a young tailor to a gal he’s been playing the lord to.  If she cares for him she’ll take him:  if not, they’re all the luckier, both of ’em.’

‘What’s the tailor’s name?’ said Mrs. Mel.

‘You are a woman,’ returned Old Tom.  ’Now, come, ma’am, don’t you feel ashamed of being in a donkeycart?’

’I ‘m ashamed of men, sometimes,’ said Mrs. Mel; ‘never of animals.’

‘’Shamed o’ me, perhaps.’

‘I don’t know you.’

’Ha! well!  I’m a man with no pretences.  Do you like ’em?  How have you brought up your three girls and one boy?  No pretences—­eh?’

Mrs. Mel did not answer, and Old Tom jogged the reins and chuckled, and asked his donkey if he wanted to be a racer.

‘Should you take me for a gentleman, ma’am?’

‘I dare say you are, sir, at heart.  Not from your manner of speech.’

‘I mean appearances, ma’am.’

‘I judge by the disposition.’

’You do, ma’am?  Then, deuce take it, if you are a woman, you ‘re -----’
Old Tom had no time to conclude.

A great noise of wheels, and a horn blown, caused them both to turn their heads, and they beheld a curricle descending upon them vehemently, and a fashionably attired young gentleman straining with all his might at the reins.  The next instant they were rolling on the bank.  About twenty yards ahead the curricle was halted and turned about to see the extent of the mischief done.

‘Pardon, a thousand times, my worthy couple,’ cried the sonorous Mr. Raikes.  ’What we have seen we swear not to divulge.  Franco and Fred—­your pledge!’