eas a little; at present his face was perfectly stolid as
he said:

"You'd best git up and ride home, missie. David'll take you back
quicker nor you can walk, now his head's this way."

Iris looked longingly at the cart. She really was a little tired now,
and very much afraid of her godmother's anger, and besides, the drive
itself would be most delightful. She would not have hesitated a moment,
but she remembered Mrs Fotheringham's injunction about talking to Moore
and the servants.

"But I needn't say _much_ to him," she concluded, and the next minute
she had taken the rough brown hand Moore held out to her, and clambered
over the side of the cart. David, who had laid back one long furry ear
as though listening to the conversation, now pricked it forward again
and started off. Seated on the rough plank, which shook and rattled
with every movement of the cart, Iris felt in the best possible spirits.
This was indeed a pleasant way of travelling, and how wonderfully
superior to the stuffy comfort of Mrs Fotheringham's well-cushioned
brougham! The Dinham road was full of new beauties seen in this manner;
the evening breeze was soft and cool, and from some of the fields came
the sweet smell of hay as they passed. There was plenty of variety,
too, in the bumps and jolts of the springless cart, Moore's way of
driving was new and attractive, and David's paces had at least the merit
of unexpectedness. Sometimes, after trotting gallantly along for some
minutes with uplifted crest, he brought himself up to a sudden and
determined walk; then Moore would hurl himself forward in the cart with
an energetic stamp, and growl out a number of strange and injurious
remarks, of which Iris only heard the first three:

"_You_ David! What are you up to? _Git_ along with you!" The rest
died away in a hoarse murmur as David quickened his movements. Iris
enjoyed it all thoroughly, and sat holding on with both hands to the
plank in the midst of the parcels, with a wide grin of pleasure on her
face. The Dinham road was very quiet, and there were few people about;
but as they approached Paradise Court an open carriage with a pair of
fine chestnut horses drove rapidly by, and David, as was his custom on
such occasions, drew up and stood quite still while it passed, in spite
of Moore's utmost exertions.

"Who was that lady in the carriage?" asked Iris, for she saw Moore touch
his cap. "I think I've seen her before."

"Very like,