"Thanks. You're a trump."
"Good-by, Miss Yorke." And he laughed. "'Pon my soul, I'm surprised
it's still _Miss_ Yorke; but it'll be _Mrs._ before long, I warrant."
"Oh, Mr. Dale!"
"There, so long," and he shook Miss Yorke's hand warmly. "And take my
excuse if I bin a bit of a slave-driver now and then. I didn't mean
it."
"We've no complaints," said one of the clerks. "Good luck, sir!"
Then Dale told his carter to make a start of it, and the wagon
creaked, jolted, slowly lumbered away.
Though they moved at a foot pace, it was not easy traveling in the
wagon; the china boxes bumped and rattled, the piano swayed so much
that all its strings vibrated, and the cat leaped frantically in the
basket; but Mavis felt no inconvenience. She was full of hope. For
more than a mile Dale walked beside the shaft horse, echoing the "Coom
in then" and "Oot thar" of the man with the leader, and the sound of
the voices, the plod of the iron shoes, and the bell-like tinkle of
the harness were all pleasant to hear. The whole thing seemed to her
picturesque and interesting, like a small episode in the Old
Testament, and imaginary words offered themselves as suitable to
describe it. "Therefore that day her husband gathered all that was
theirs, and set her behind his horses and they journeyed into another
place.
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