“Over a hundred miles from London,” answered the Honourable, “that’s all I know about it. Holloaing, I suppose, would be no use—there can’t be a house within hearing, and the fly has gone the other road. Have a cigar, old fellow! and, just to keep the fun going, perhaps you wouldn’t mind singing us a song?” It was only under a calamity like the present that the Honourable condescended to be facetious. Mr. Sawyer was on the verge of making an angry reply, when the sound of a horse’s hoofs advancing with considerable rapidity changed it into a vigorous call for assistance. “Hilli-ho! ho!” shouted Mr. Sawyer. “Hilli-ho! ho!” answered a jolly voice, as the hoofs ceased, and came clattering on again, denoting that the rider had pulled up to listen and was coming speedily to help. “What’s up now?” asked the jolly voice, in somewhat convivial accents, as an equestrian mass of drab and leggings, which was all that could be made out through the darkness, loomed indistinctly into the foreground. “What’s up now, mates? got the wrong end uppermost this turn, sure-lie.” “Come to grief at the gate,” explained the Honourable. “Didn’t go _quite_ fast enough at it, Sawyer,” he added, half reflectively, half apologetically, to his friend. “Why, it’s Muster Crasher!” exclaimed the jolly voice, in delighted tones. “Well, _to be_ sure! Not the _first_ gate, neither, by a many—only to think of it, well, well! But come, let’s see what’s the damage done—dear! dear! you’ll never get home to-night. You must come up to my place, ’tain’t above a mile through the fields—we’ll get you put up, nags and all, and send down for the trap first thing i’ the morning. How lucky I was passing this way! Coming back from market, ye see, I’d just stopped to smoke a pipe with neighbour Mark down at The Holt, and was maken’ for home in a hurry, ’cause it’s rather past my time, you know, when I hear this gentleman a hollerin’ murder! Up I comes and finds the ship overboard with a vengeance. What a start it is, sure-lie!” Thus moralising, and never leaving off talking for an instant, the jolly yeoman jumped off his horse, and lent his powerful assistance to clear away the wreck; shaking The Boy into life again with considerable energy. In a few minutes the four men, leading the two damaged carriage-horses, were stumbling and groping their way across the fields towards the new arrival’s farm. Ere they reached their destination, the owner, with considerable politeness, introduced himself to our friend. “No offence, sir,” said he, “my name’s Trotter—Trotter of Trotter’s Lodge, and that’s my place where you see the lights a shinin’—Mr. Crasher, he knows me _well_—think I’ve met _you_ out a huntin’ more than once this season—allow me, sir, we’ll have the missus up in no time, and a hearty welcome to you both.”