“Grandpa, we will leave Lenny to help you entertain your friends while we put on our bonnets and mantles,” said Anna, rising from the table, followed by Drusilla. “And so Master Leonard is going to the Derby? He is beginning life early,—he is a very fast young gentleman,” said Mr. Tredegar, taking the child upon his knee. “Lenny doin’ Dubby—hee hos wun,” was the stereotyped answer of the boy. But he was taken from one by the other, and prattled sociably to all until the return of the ladies dressed for their drive. “Now, Mr. Spencer, you are not in earnest about these veils? I am not to decorate Dick’s and grandpa’s hats with them, am I?” laughed Anna, lifting the light cloud-like pile of barège. “Oh, no; not just yet! not until they shall be required. It has ceased drizzling, but the ground is still too damp for dust. They can be rolled up and put into their pockets until wanted.” “Here, grandpa, here is yours,” said Anna, rolling up the gray veil lightly, and handing it. “No, thank you, my dear. Dust or no dust, I am not going to wear a veil. I would just as soon wear a crinoline!” “Put it in your own pocket, my dear Mrs. Hammond, and have it ready for him when he will want it. He will be glad enough to get it by-and-by,” said Francis Tredegar. Anna took his advice. “And now are we all quite ready?” inquired the General. “Quite,” answered everybody else. “Then, come!” And he took Drusilla’s hand, and drew it within his arm and led the way down-stairs. A large, open barouche, with a fine pair of horses, stood waiting the General’s family. A jaunty gig with a spirited horse awaited the two young gentlemen. Drusilla and Anna were handed into the back seat. The General sat in front, and by his side sat Pina with little Lenny. Dick perched himself up beside the driver. Jacob rode behind. The two young men were in their gig. The party started—the General’s barouche taking the lead. The drizzling rain had ceased and the clouds were dispersing before a light wind. The streets of London, always crowded, were now thronged; but with this difference also,—that nine-tenths of the people’s faces and the horses’ heads were turned in one direction, and everybody,—man, woman, and child, saint and sinner,—was becoming more and more intoxicated; and not with spirituous or fermented liquors, but with the Derby Day. Crowded carriages of all descriptions, saddle-horses, donkeys, and foot-passengers of all ranks and sexes, thronged the streets; and talk and laughter, calls and shouts resounded through the air. It looked as if London were suddenly being evacuated by its whole population, and the people were making a merry joke of the matter. And all were pouring towards the south-western suburb.