So, as I saw it was to be so, I said no more, except by Way of Thanks in _Gatty's_ Name; and resolved to remit her the Money as soon as I received a Letter from her. The Letter was not long a-coming. I have it before me now. "Larkfield, Hants., "Sept. 14, 1749. "Dear Mrs. _Patty_, "Your last Look said so plainly that you should like to hear a Voice from the Basket, that I have taken the largest Sheet of Paper I can find, to tell you about my Journey Home, and how happy I am. About Half-an-hour after we started, it began to rain pretty fast, which incommoded me more than my Companion, as she covered her Head and Shoulders with a piece of Sacking, from which the Rain ran down upon me. When we changed Horses, the Men inside got out to stretch themselves, and I then observed that the Passenger in the Roquelaure was Squire _Heavitree_, the Father of a Gentleman Farmer in our Neighbourhood whom we know pretty well, and who was doubtless on his Way to visit his Son and have a little Shooting. He, pitying me in the Rain, stepped up and said, 'Young Woman, if my Roquelaure will be of any Service.... Why, _Gatty_! is it you? Art going Home, Child? There's Room inside the Coach for thee.... Come down, come down from the Basket, I'll pay the Difference!' And, almost whether I would or no, he made me alight and get into the Coach, where I had to ride bodkin between him and the fat Woman with the Puppy-Dog. At first I was very glad to be sheltered from the Rain, but the Coach was very close, and we had only one Window partly open. The _Squire_ chatted so cordially with me, however, that I had little Time to think of Disagreeables; and when he had told me all he had to tell, he fell to questioning. Most of the Passengers were nodding, which was all the better, as I did not like mentioning Names before Folks. By-and-by, the _Squire_ became quiet, and I guessed he was going to nod too; but, stealing a Look at him, I saw he was only thinking. We were now going slowly over a heavy, sandy Road, and the Coach rocked a good deal, and sometimes stuck. I feared once or twice we should be overturned; but the _Squire_ said, 'No Danger;' and, to divert my Attention, pointed out a Gibbet across the Heath, on which a Highwayman hung in Chains; no very pleasant Object. As I looked somewhat apprehensively towards it, suddenly the open Window was blocked up by a Horseman with a black Crape over his Face, who, crying 'Your Money or your Lives!' fired straight through the Coach, so as to shatter the opposite Glass. The next Moment, another Highwayman appeared at the other Window. There's no describing the Noise, Uproar, and Confusion, the Smoke, Stench of Gunpowder, shrieking of Women, and barking of the Puppy. The next Moment, our stout old _Squire_, disengaging a Blunderbuss from