‘And the beer,’ said the lady of the caravan, with an appearance of being more interested in this question than the last, ‘is it passable, George?’

‘It’s more flatterer than it might be,’ George returned, ‘but it an’t so bad for all that.’

To set the mind of his mistress at rest, he took a sip (amounting in quantity to a pint or thereabouts) from the stone bottle, and then smacked his lips, winked his eye, and nodded his head. No doubt with the same amiable desire, he immediately resumed his knife and fork, as a practical assurance that the beer had wrought no bad effect upon his appetite.

The lady of the caravan looked on approvingly for some time, and then said,

‘Have you nearly finished?’

‘Wery nigh, Mum.’ And indeed, after scraping the dish all round with his knife and carrying the choice brown morsels to his mouth, and after taking such a scientific pull at the stone bottle that, by degrees almost imperceptible to the sight, his head went further and further back until he lay nearly at his full length upon the ground, this gentleman declared himself quite disengaged, and came forth from his retreat.

‘I hope I haven’t hurried you, George,’ said his mistress, who appeared to have a great sympathy with his late pursuit.

‘If you have,’ returned the follower, wisely reserving himself for any favourable contingency that might occur, ‘we must make up for it next time, that’s all.’

‘We are not a heavy load, George?’

‘That’s always what the ladies say,’ replied the man, looking a long way round, as if he were appealing to Nature in general against such monstrous propositions. ‘If you see a woman a driving, you’ll always perceive that she never will keep her whip still; the horse can’t go fast enough for her. If cattle have got their proper load, you never can persuade a woman that they’ll not bear something more. What is the cause of this here?’

‘Would these two travellers make much difference to the horses, if we took them with us?’ asked his mistress, offering no reply to the philosophical inquiry, and pointing to Nell and the old man, who were painfully preparing to resume their journey on foot.

‘They’d make a difference in course,’ said George doggedly.

‘Would they make much difference?’ repeated his mistress. ‘They can’t be very heavy.’

‘The weight o’ the pair, Mum,’ said George, eyeing them with the look of a man who was calculating within half an ounce or so, ‘would be a trifle under that of Oliver Cromwell.’

Nell was very much surprised that the man should be so accurately acquainted with the weight of one whom she had read of in books as having lived considerably before their time, but speedily forgot the subject in the joy of hearing that they were to go forward in the caravan, for which she thanked its lady with unaffected earnestness. She helped with great readiness and alacrity to put away the tea-things and other matters that were lying about, and, the horses being by that time harnessed, mounted into the vehicle, followed by her delighted grandfather. Their patroness then shut the door and sat herself down by her drum at an open window; and, the steps being struck by George and stowed under the carriage, away they went, with a great noise of flapping and creaking and straining, and the bright brass knocker, which nobody ever knocked at, knocking one perpetual double knock of its own accord as they jolted heavily along.