I START ON MY TRAVELS. 53

thinking of your breakfast, Miss Madge,” he
says, after saying “Good morning” to me,
“so I made bold to cut you some bread and
butter, and bring you a glass of milk.”

“Oh, thanks, Simmons,” I cry, “it was
very good of you to think of it, for if you
hadn’t I should have been starving before I
got home.”

Having disposed of the milk I hop into the
carriage, and throwing the bread and butter
on the opposite seat preparatory to eating it
as I go along, I gather up the reins, and
nodding gratefully to Simmons, turn Frisk’s
head towards the gate.

The animals, one and all, evince a strong
desire to accompany me, but with Simmons’
assistance and a few flourishes of my whip
I at length make them understand that such
is not my intention.

Tuft, as usual, shows most obstinacy, and
looking back I see him dodging Simmons in
a manner that does him eredit, considering
his blindness.

I call out something to this effect, but