e Walters, that kept the Packhorse Inn is
lying dead, and they bury 'en at half after two to-day. I'd be main
glad to show respect at the funeral and tell Mrs. Walters how much
deceased 'll be missed, ancetera; but I might so well try to fly in
the air. Now if you could attend and just pass the word that I'm on my
back with the colic, but that you've come to show respect in my place,
I'd take it very friendly of ye. There'll be lashins o' vittles an'
drink. No Walters was ever interred under a kilderkin.'" Now the fact
was, I had never driven a horse in my life and hardly knew (as they
say) a horse's head from his tail till he began to move. But that is
just the sort of ignorance no young man will readily confess to. So
I answered that I was engaged that evening. We were just organising
night-classes for the young men of the parish, and the vicar was to
open the first, with a short address, at half-past six.

"'You'll be back in lashins o' time,' the farmer assured me.

"This put me fairly in a corner. 'To tell you the truth,' said I, 'I'm
not accustomed to drive much.' But of course this was wickedly short
of the truth.

"He declared that it was impossible to come to grief on the way, the
brown horse being quiet as a lamb and knowing every stone of the road.
And the end was that I consented. The brown horse was harnessed by the
farm-boy and led round with the gig while Miss Jane Ann and I were
finishing our midday meal. And I drove off alone in a black suit and
with my heart in my mouth.

"Trumpeter, as the farmer had promised, was quiet as a lamb. He went
forward at a steady jog, and even had the good sense to quarter on
his own account for the one or two vehicles we met on the broad road.
Pretty soon I began to experiment gingerly with the reins; and by the
time we reached Tregarrick streets, was handling them with quite an
air, while observing the face of everyone I met, to make sure I
was not being laughed at. The prospect of Tregarrick Fore Street
frightened me a good deal, and there was a sharp corner to turn at the
entrance of the inn-yard. But the old horse knew his business so well
that had I pulled on one rein with all my strength I believe it would
have merely annoyed, without convincing, him. He took me into the yard
without a mistake, and I gave up the reins to the ostler, thanking
Heaven and looking careless.

"The inn was crowded with mourners, eating and drinking and discussing
the dead man's virt