got down to the door, where the old horse had already taken more than the full value of his day’s toll out of the Turnpike Trust, by tearing up the road with his impatient autographs; and whence Boxer might be dimly seen in the remote perspective, standing looking back, and tempting him to come on without orders. As to a chair, or anything of that kind for helping Mrs. Peerybingle into the cart, you know very little of John, if you think _that_ was necessary. Before you could have seen him lift her from the ground, there she was in her place, fresh and rosy, saying, ‘John! How _can_ you! Think of Tilly!’ If I might be allowed to mention a young lady’s legs, on any terms, I would observe of Miss Slowboy’s that there was a fatality about them which rendered them singularly liable to be grazed; and that she never effected the smallest ascent or descent, without recording the circumstance upon them with a notch, as Robinson Crusoe marked the days upon his wooden calendar. But as this might be considered ungenteel, I’ll think of it. ‘John? You’ve got the Basket with the Veal and Ham-Pie and things, and the bottles of Beer?’ said Dot. ‘If you haven’t, you must turn round again, this very minute.’ ‘You’re a nice little article,’ returned the Carrier, ‘to be talking about turning round, after keeping me a full quarter of an hour behind my time.’ ‘I am sorry for it, John,’ said Dot in a great bustle, ‘but I really could not think of going to Bertha’s—I would not do it, John, on any account—without the Veal and Ham-Pie and things, and the bottles of Beer. Way!’ This monosyllable was addressed to the horse, who didn’t mind it at all. ‘Oh _do_ way, John!’ said Mrs. Peerybingle. ‘Please!’ ‘It’ll be time enough to do that,’ returned John, ‘when I begin to leave things behind me. The basket’s here, safe enough.’ ‘What a hard-hearted monster you must be, John, not to have said so, at once, and save me such a turn! I declared I wouldn’t go to Bertha’s without the Veal and Ham-Pie and things, and the bottles of Beer, for any money. Regularly once a fortnight ever since we have been married, John, have we made our little Pic-Nic there. If anything was to go wrong with it, I should almost think we were never to be lucky again.’ ‘It was a kind thought in the first instance,’ said the Carrier: ‘and I honour you for it, little woman.’ ‘My dear John,’ replied Dot, turning very red, ‘don’t talk about honouring _me_. Good Gracious!’ ‘By the bye—’ observed the Carrier. ‘That old gentleman—’ Again so visibly, and instantly embarrassed! ‘He’s an odd fish,’ said the Carrier, looking straight along the road before them. ‘I can’t make him out. I don’t believe there’s any harm in him.’ ‘None at all. I’m—I’m sure there’s none at all.’