“What do you say, Uncle Dandy?” inquired Julia, appealing in turn to her old relative. “You stop here! Both on you stop! You take Mr. Hay at his word! Ran Hay means every word that he speaks. If he says he wants you to stop here he does want you to stop here! And as he does, you ought to do it to please him as well as yourselves, which you will be sure to do, I know. That’s all I have got to say!” While Dandy was speaking and his niece and nephew listening, Ran beckoned a footman to follow him, and stepped out of the front door and went up to the driver of the carryall, who stood by the horses’ heads, clapping his thickly gloved hands and stamping his heavily shod feet to keep warm. “You came from Chuxton?” “Yes, sir, and been waiting here for more’n an hour for the parties I fotch, and myself near frozen, spite of my piles of clothes and——” “Charles,” said Hay, turning his head and speaking in a low voice to the footman, “go in and get a large mug of strong ale and bring it out to this man.” The footman vanished on his errand. The driver continued as if he had not been interrupted: “Horses like to catch their death of cold, spite o’ two heavy blankets apiece laid o’ top of them.” “I am sorry I can do nothing for your horses, but if you think any of the grooms might, just let them do it,” said Ran. “No, sir. There can’t nobody do nothing for ’em here. And nothing will help them but a brisk trot back to Chuxton and a warm mash and good bed when they get there.” The footman came out with a pewter quart measure of strong, foaming ale and handed it to the driver. The latter took it with a “thanky” to the server and a bow to the master, and said: “Thank you, sir. This saves my life. Here’s to a long and happy one for you and yours. Is the party inside ready to go back, if you please, sir?” inquired the driver after he had taken one long draught of the ale and stopped to draw a deep sigh of satisfaction. “They are not going back. Charles, get the bags and other effects out of the carriage and carry them into the house.” The footman obeyed, loading himself with two heavy bags, two rugs and a large umbrella, and took them into the hall while the driver was taking his second long pull at the ale. “How much is your fare?” inquired Hay. The man stopped to recover breath with another devout inhalation of enjoyment, and then answered: “Ten shillings, sir.” Ran took out his purse and gave the man half a sovereign and half a crown. “Thank you, sir,” said the driver, touching his hat, not for the fare, but for the “tip.” Then he took the blankets off his horses, folded and put them under his box and mounted to his seat. “You had better drive as fast as you can, not only for the sake of warming the blood of the horses, but for that of cooling the temper of the gentleman who is waiting for you with his party at the station.” “Another fare to-night, sir?” “Yes, so I hear from the people you have just brought.”