he 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 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 declare 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 Picnic 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-t