I'll just tie the pony to the back of the cart an' he'll follow, and you get up here beside myself, and we'll face back to Trimleston." "But you were going the other way.

You'll be late for your own business," cried Terry.
"Never mind, missy; business'll have to wait.

We can't lave a young lady and a pony with cut knees foundherin' on the roadside," said the carter.
And so the pony was tied to the cart, and Terry was hoisted to a seat on the turf beside the carter.
At any other time she would have asked to be allowed to take the reins and drive the cart, but just now she felt too cold and miserable and crushed, too unhappy about Jocko, and too utterly defeated in the matter of the eggs, to do anything but huddle up in her nook among the turf sods and struggle against a threatened burst of weeping.
[Illustration] The carter drove on slowly, in silence, looking back now and again to see that the pony was all right, but taking no further notice of Terry.

The fog was beginning to lift a little, so that one could see here and there a bit of the roof of a little house, or a thorn bush.

At last the carter said: "Well, missy, what about thim eggs?
Were they raly for Gran'ma's breakfast ?" "Oh, don't talk about them!" cried Terry.