'We should most awfully!' I exclaimed, eagerly.

'Well, now, listen to me,' was the answer. 'My round doesn't take me as
far as Hazleton, but I am going to Watcombe, and that's ten miles short.
We shall not get there much afore evening, because you see I have to
travel a good bit out of the main road, and stop at ever so many places
on the way.'

At any rate, the proffered lift would take me within ten miles of
Colebrook Park, whereas without such help I did not see how I was to get
even so far unless I carried Patch in my arms. Besides, the drive was
tempting in itself, the only drawback being that my remaining capital of
one and fourpence would have to bear an extra strain, and, in case of
more bad weather, it would probably be exhausted before I reached my
destination. However, in a very few moments Patch and I were seated on
the top of a wooden box full of lemonade bottles, the fat driver whipped
up his horse, and we sped gaily along the country road.

CHAPTER XIII.

As I sat on the box of lemonade bottles, with a hand on Patch lest he
should show a desire to jump down from the van, I noticed that he was
sniffing curiously at the back of the driver's coat; and presently the
driver in his turn began to look with equal interest at the terrier.

'He seems to know you,' I remarked.

'Come to that,' was the answer, 'I seem to know him. Looks to me most
uncommon like Mr. Westrop's dog, he does.'

'Who is Mr. Westrop?' I inquired, holding Patch more tightly.

For a few minutes, without answering (for the fat driver was slow of
speech and spoke in a deep voice which seemed to come from the direction
of his boots), he divided his attention between the horse and the dog,
and then fixed his small eyes on my face.

'The question is,' he said slowly, 'where did you get him?'

'You see, I found him,' I replied.

'Mr. Westrop's been in a bad way about his dog,' continued the driver.
'A very bad way. What do you think about it, Sam, old chap?'

The terrier, to my sorrow, showed what he thought about it by wagging
his stumpy tail and whining with satisfaction, so that it would have
been ridiculous to attempt to persuade myself that he failed to
recognise the name of 'Sam.'

'I know most people betwixt here and Barton,' said the driver, laying
his whip gently across the horse. 'Come to that, so I ought.'

'Do you live at Barton?' I asked, thinking of Mr. Turton and Augustus,
and their wasted drive to that t