On his faithful daily call, the young man would creep round
by the back door, and Tilly was growing more and more irate at her
inability to waylay him. Yes, Polly was rather redly forced to admit,
she HAD abetted him in his evasions. ("You know, Poll, I might just as
well tie myself up to old Mother B. herself and be done with it!") Out
of sheer pique Tilly had twice now accepted old Mr. Ocock's invitation
to drive with him. Once, she had returned with a huge bag of lollies;
and once, with a face like a turkey-cock. Polly couldn't help
thinking . . . no, really, Richard, she could not! . . . that perhaps
something might COME of it. He should not laugh; just wait and see.
Many inquiries had been made after him. People had missed their doctor,
it seemed, and wanted him back. It was a real red-letter day when he
could snap to the catches of his gloves again, and mount the step of a
buggy.
He had instructed Purdy to arrange for the hire of this vehicle,
saddle-work being out of the question for him in the meantime. And on his
first long journey--it led him past Doyle's hut, now, he was sorry to see,
in the hands of strangers; for the wife, on the way to making a fair
recovery, had got up too soon, overtaxed her strength and died, and the
broken-hearted husband was gone off no one knew where--on this drive,
as mile after mile slid from under the wheels, Mahony felt how grateful
was the screen of a hood between him and the sun.
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