plucking at the hedge.

When the stage appeared down the winding of the road I was utterly
ignorant of what he meant us to do, or if he had any definite purpose
at all.

It came--the coachman was hailed. Mr. Charles shook hands with us
and mounted--paying his own fare and that of Yates with their handful
of charity-pennies, which caused a few minutes' delay in counting,
and a great deal of good-humoured joking, as good-humouredly borne.

Meanwhile, John put his two hands on my shoulders, and looked hard
into my face--his was slightly flushed and excited, I thought.

"Phineas, are you tired?"

"Not at all."

"Do you feel strong enough to go to Coltham? Would it do you no
harm? Would you LIKE to go?"

To all these hurried questions I answered with as hurried an
affirmative. It was sufficient to me that he evidently liked to go.

"It is only for once--your father would not grudge us the pleasure,
and he is too busy to be out of the tan-yard before midnight. We
will be home soon after then, if I carry you on my back all the ten
miles. Come, mount, we'll go."

"Bravo!" cried Mr. Charles, and leaned over to help me up the coach's