“That’s it—it all comes of beginning well,” said the toll-gate mourner. “It’s the same with dogs and with poultry. Lor’ bless you, if I didn’t take the stick to my cochin-china, he’d be all over the kitchen.”
“I’d never advise any girl to marry,” said Mrs. Weldon.
“Nor I neither,” was the reply; “it’s a pity they won’t take advice—they are that wilful.”
Both couples were interrupted in their respective conversations by a rattle of wheels, shouts, a waving of colours, and up came a light cart occupied by a couple of men, one driving, both vociferating, one brandishing a whip, the other waving a parti-coloured sheet attached to a stick. The cart was drawn by a donkey with coloured rosettes, and was urged forward by the whip, at the end of which was a favour, accentuated with a bunch of thorns. The donkey, stung by the thorns, frightened by the yells, was galloping, and the banner was streaming in the air.
“Hurrah! Vote for Popjoy!” yelled the man with the flag as he flourished it over his head, and, swinging round the corner, the donkey came almost against the bearer with the coffin, and swerved so suddenly that the banner-bearer lost his balance, and was precipitated from the cart into the road, and fell at the feet of Jack Weldon.
“What are you doing there?” shouted the fallen man. “I’ll have a law passed to get the likes of you transported for life!”
He tried to rise, but found that he could not, and began to swear.
“Thomas!” she cried, in a voice harsh with indignation, “do you know where you be? and to whom you speak, you ill-conditioned tadpole?”
“I know well enough. I’m on the road—and I’ve hurt my leg somehow.”
“Do you know what you be?” again exclaimed Mrs. Weldon.
“I should think I did. I’m a free and enlightened elector.”
“Look up, Thomas Leveridge, from where you lie, stopping your little Rosie on the way to her grave.”
“Ah!” threw in the woman from the toll-gate, “if you, her own father, won’t come home to see your own sick and dying child, we, who’re no relations, must bury her without consideration of you.”
Then up came the companion of the prostrate man, who by this time had mastered the ass.
“I say, Thomas Leveridge! what’s to be done?” he asked.
The man on the road did not answer at once; he looked with glazed eyes and quivering mouth at the little chest. He tried to speak, but he could not. He tried to raise himself, but was powerless.