The little town of Branston was not yet very wide-awake when they did arrive at the Royal George, and Jem pulled up with a flourish, and threw the reins to a gaping stable-boy with as great an air as would have befitted a coachman in the palmy days when the Flying Stage used to change horses at Branston. The little old lady alighted demurely, her husband supporting her while she planted first one neat little foot, clad in a buckled shoe and clocked white stocking, on the step, and then its fellow, and lifting her off bodily, with much the same tender gallantry as that with which he had doubtless performed a similar office fifty years ago. At his request, Mrs. Bussell was conducted to the best private room; she seemed to have quite identified herself with those bygone days, and clung to his arm fearfully as they mounted the stairs; while in her husband past and present were pleasantly mingled. Thus, when, having deposited his fair charge in the George’s largest sitting-room, he strolled down to the lower premises to give certain orders regarding the horses, he made no ado about taking the landlord into his confidence. “This ’ere is a runaway trip,” he remarked, with a jocular wink. “’Tis our golden weddin’ day, and the missus and me had a notion o’ spendin’ it quiet, just by our two selves. They’re makin’ a great to-do at our place--children and grandchildren comin’ from all sides, but we just thought we’d give them the slip, and keep the day here same as we done fifty year ago.” “Ah,” put in the landlord, much interested, “I heard somethin’ about that. You and your lady run off, didn’t ye?” “We did,” returned John. “Her father, ye see, old Sherren--they did use to call en Squire--she was the only child, and he reckoned on her makin’ a grand match, takin’ up wi’ one o’ the reg’lar gentry, ye know; but he wasn’t a bit better nor the rest of any of us yeoman farmers. Well, I wasn’t much of a match in those days--my father had a long family and not much to divide between us; but I liked the maid, and the maid she did like me, so we took the law into our own hands. My missus, she did use to go a-feedin’ of her chicken very early in the mornin’, so the folks got accustomed to hearin’ her get up and go out before daylight almost--and one mornin’ she did go out and she didn’t never go back.” “I remember,” cried the other, “you tricked them wi’ an empty post-chaise, didn’t ye?” “To be sure,” returned the old farmer chuckling. “’Twas Joe Boyt did that. He did ride for all he were worth, the wrong way. And me and the maid ran a couple of mile on our own legs, till we come to the high road where Jem was awaitin’ for us wi’ the very same old shay as we did drive over in to-day. I did swear I’d buy it if ever I had the chance, and I’d take Jem into my service. And I did both.”