can't, may I--"

_Myself_.--Don't swear, it's a bad habit, neither pleasant nor
profitable. Your name is Slingsby--Jack Slingsby. There, don't stare,
there's nothing in my telling you your name: I've been in these parts
before, at least not very far from here. Ten years ago, when I was
little more than a child, I was about twenty miles from here in a post
chaise, at the door of an inn, and as I looked from the window of the
chaise, I saw you standing by a gutter, with a big tin ladle in your
hand, and somebody called you Jack Slingsby. I never forget anything I
hear or see; I can't, I wish I could. So there's nothing strange in my
knowing your name; indeed, there's nothing strange in anything, provided
you examine it to the bottom. Now what am I to give you for the things?

I paid Slingsby five pounds ten shillings for his stock in trade, cart,
and pony--purchased sundry provisions of the landlady, also a wagoner's
frock, which had belonged to a certain son of hers, deceased, gave my
little animal a feed of corn, and prepared to depart.

"God bless you, young man," said Slingsby, shaking me by the hand, "you
are the best friend I've had for many a day: I have but one thing to tell
you, Don't cross that fellow's path if you can help it; and stay--should
the pony refuse to go, just touch him so, and he'll fly like the wind."

CHAPTER LXIX.

Effects of Corn--One Night Longer--The Hoofs--A Stumble--Are you
Hurt?--What a Difference!--Drowsy--Maze of Bushes--Housekeeping--Sticks
and Furze--The Driftway--Account of Stock--Anvil and Bellows--Twenty
Years.

It was two or three hours past noon when I took my departure from the
place of the last adventure, walking by the side of my little cart; the
pony, invigorated by the corn, to which he was probably not much
accustomed, proceeded right gallantly; so far from having to hasten him
forward by the particular application which the tinker had pointed out to
me, I had rather to repress his eagerness, being, though an excellent
pedestrian, not unfrequently left behind. The country through which I
passed was beautiful and interesting, but solitary: few habitations
appeared. As it was quite a matter of indifference to me in what
direction I went, the whole world being before me, I allowed the pony to
decide upon the matter; it was not long before he left the high road,
being probably no friend to public places. I followed him I knew not
whither, but, from subseq