"But we have no shoes," said the usher; "and cannot go until we get some."

"My ordher is not to go back without you."

"But if we can't go?"

"Well, then, I can't go back, that's all," said Andy.

The usher, the landlord, and the landlady all hammered away at Andy for a
long time, in vain trying to convince him he ought to return, as he was
desired; still Andy stuck to the letter of his orders, and said he often
got into trouble for not doing _exactly_ what he was bid, and that he
was bid "not to go back without them, and he would not--so he wouldn't--
divil a fut."

At last, however, Andy was made to understand the propriety of riding back
to the town; and was desired to go as fast as his horse could carry him,
to gallop every foot of the way; but Andy did no such thing; he had
received a good thrashing once for being caught galloping his master's
horse on the road, and he had no intention of running the risk a second
time, because "_the stranger_" told him to do so. "What does he know
about it?" said Andy to himself; "'faith, it's fair and aisy I'll go, and
not disthress the horse to plaze any one." So he went back his ten miles
at a reasonable pace only; and when he appeared without the electors, a
storm burst on poor Andy.

"There! I knew how it would be," said he, "and not my fault at all."

"Weren't you told not to return without them?"