daughter would have thrown her arms around his neck, and emphasized her
suggestion with a kiss. Miss Owen did not do this; but the tone of
respectful yet affectionate confidence in which she spoke served her
purpose just as well.

"Mr. Horn"--they were in the midst of their daily grapple with the
correspondence--"the doctor says poor Susie Martin ought to have a great
deal of fresh air. Don't you think a carriage drive now and then would be
a good thing?"

Her knowledge of "Cobbler" Horn assured her that her suggestion would be
adopted. Otherwise she would have hesitated to throw it out.

"Cobbler" Horn laid down the pen with which he had been making some
jottings for the guidance of his secretary, and regarded her steadfastly
for a moment or two. Then his face lighted up with a sudden glow.

"To be sure! Why didn't I think of that? My dear young lady, you are my
good angel!"

That evening Miss Owen was desired to take a message to the cottage; and
the next day Bounder was confounded by being ordered to convey Miss Owen
and the invalid girl for a country drive, in the pony carriage. Bounder
stared, became apoplectic in appearance, and stutteringly asked to have
the order repeated. His master complied with his request; and Bounder
turned away, with haughty mien, to do as he was bid. He was consumed with
fierce mortification. He would bear it this time, but not again. He was
like the proverbial camel, which succumbs beneath the last straw. Very
soon the point would be reached at which long-suffering endurance must
give way.

It was a deep grievance with Bounder that he was seldom ordered to drive
to big houses. He was required to turn the heads of his horses into many
strange ways. He was almost daily ordered to drive down streets where he
was ashamed to be seen, and to stop at doors at which he felt it to be an
indignity to be compelled to pull up his prancing steeds. Bounder hailed
with relief the occasions on which he was required to take Miss Jemima
out. Then he was sure of not receiving an order to obey which would be
beneath the dignity of a coachman who, until now, had known no service but
of the highest class. Such occasions supplied salve to his wounded spirit.
But his wound was reopened every day by some fresh insult at the hands of
his master. He had submitted to the odious necessity of driving out in his
carriage the crippled girl, and that not only once or twice. But the tide
of rebellion was rising hi