“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.” For want of anything better, he handed the astonished driver his tobacco-pouch, and waved him to the house. The lad descended from his perch and ran to the door just as Dick Tipping, giving vent to a sharp cry, was rushing out. The cry acted on the skipper like magic, and, snatching up the whip, he gave the horse a cut in which was concentrated the fears of the last fortnight and the hopes of his future lifetime. The animal sprang forward madly just as Dick Tipping, who had pushed the driver out of the way, rushed out in pursuit. There was a hard white road in front and it took it at a gallop, the vehicle rocking from side to side behind it as Flower played on it with the whip. Tipping was close behind, and the driver a good second. Flower, leaving the horse to take care of itself for a time, stood upright in the carriage and hurled cushions at his foremost pursuer. The third cushion was long and limp, and, falling on end in front of him, twined itself round his swift-moving legs and brought him heavily to the ground. “He’s winded,” said Flower, as he saw the coachman stop and help the other man slowly to his feet; “shows what a cushion can do.” He clambered onto the seat, as a bend in the road shut the others from his sight, and gathering up the reins, gave himself over to the joyous feeling of his new-found liberty as they rushed through the air. His ideas of driving were elementary, and his mode of turning corners was to turn them quickly and get it over; but he drove on for miles without mishap, and, the horse having dropped to a steady trot, began to consider his future movements. “They’ll be setting the wires to work, I expect,” he thought, soberly. “What a comfortable old world this must have been before they invented steam and telegraph. I’ll go a little bit farther, and then tie it up to a tree.”