“ Mr. Sawyer’s,” said the old lady.

“I was going there,” said the surly man.

The old lady nodded the satisfaction which this proof of the surly man’s foresight imparted to her feelings; and the surly man giving a smart lash to the chubby horse, they all repaired to Mr. Bob Sawyer’s together.

“Martin!” said the old lady, when the fly stopped at the door of Mr. Robert Sawyer, late Nockemorf.

“Well?” said Martin.

“Ask the lad to step out, and mind the horse.”

“I’m going to mind the horse myself,” said Martin, laying his whip on the roof of the fly.