miles farther on; and, when he
returned in the evening, he called for Dot, and took another rest on his
way home. This was the order of the day on all the Picnic occasions, and
had been ever since their institution.

There were two persons present, besides the bride and bridegroom elect,
who did but indifferent honour to the toast. One of these was Dot, too
flushed and discomposed to adapt herself to any small occurrence of the
moment; the other, Bertha, who rose up hurriedly before the rest, and
left the table.

"Good-bye!" said stout John Peerybingle, pulling on his dreadnought
coat. "I shall be back at the old time. Good-bye all!"

"Good-bye, John," returned Caleb.

He seemed to say it by rote, and to wave his hand in the same
unconscious manner; for he stood observing Bertha with an anxious
wondering face, that never altered its expression.

"Good-bye, young shaver!" said the jolly Carrier, bending down to kiss
the child; which Tilly Slowboy, now intent upon her knife and fork, had
deposited asleep (and, strange to say, without damage) in a little cot
of Bertha's furnishing; "good-bye! Time will come, I suppose, when
_you_'ll turn out into the cold, my little friend, and leave your old
father to enjoy his pipe and his rheumatics in the chimney-corner; eh?
Where's Dot?"

"I'm here, John!" she said, starting.

"Come, come!" returned the Carrier, clapping his sounding hands.
"Where's the pipe?"

"I quite forgot the pipe, John."

Forgot the pipe! Was such a wonder ever heard of? She! Forgot the pipe!

"I'll--I'll fill it directly. It's soon done."

But it was not so soon done, either. It lay in the usual place--the
Carrier's dreadnought pocket--with the little pouch, her own work, from
which she was used to fill it; but her hand shook so, that she entangled
it (and yet her hand was small enough to have come out easily, I am
sure), and bungled terribly. The filling of the pipe and lighting it,
those little offices in which I have commended her discretion, were
vilely done from first to last. During the whole process, Tackleton
stood looking on maliciously with the half-closed eye; which, whenever
it met hers--or caught it, for it can hardly be said to have ever met
another eye: rather being a kind of trap to snatch it up--augmented her
confusion in a most remarkable degree.

"Why, what a clumsy Dot you are this afternoon!" said John. "I could
have done it better myself, I verily believe!"

With these go