ch he has heard from big boys in
the holidays. He is chock full of hope and life, notwithstanding the
cold, and kicks his heels against the backboard, and would like to
sing, only he doesn't know how his friend the silent guard might take
it.

[23] #St. Albans#: about twenty miles north of London.

"PULLING UP."

And now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth stage,[24] and the
coach pulls up at a little road-side inn with huge stables behind.
There is a bright fire gleaming through the red curtains of the
bar-window, and the door is open. The coachman catches his whip into a
double thong, and throws it to the ostler; the steam of the horses
rises straight up into the air. He has put them along over the last
two miles, and is two minutes before his time. He rolls down from the
box and into the inn. The guard rolls off behind. "Now, sir," says he
to Tom, "you just jump down, and I'll give you a drop of something to
keep the cold out."

[24] #Stage#: division of a journey.

Tom finds a difficulty in jumping, or, indeed, in finding the top of
the wheel with his feet, which may be in the next world, for all he
feels; so the guard picks him off the coach-top, and sets him on his
legs, and they stump off into the bar, and join the coachman and the
other outside passengers.

Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each with a glass of early
purl[25] as they stand before the fire, coachman and guard exchanging
business remarks. The purl warms Tom up and makes him cough.

[25] #Purl#: a hot drink made of beer and other ingredients.

"Rare tackle[26] that, sir, of a cold morning," says the coachman,
smiling. "Time's up." They are out again and up; coachee the last,
gathering the reins into his hands and talking to Jem, the ostler,
about the mare's shoulder, and then swinging himself up on to the
box,--the horses dashing off in a canter before he falls into his
seat. Toot-toot-tootle-too goes the horn, and away they are again,
five-and-thirty miles on their road (nearly half way to Rugby, thinks
Tom), and the prospect of breakfast at the end of the stage.

[26] #Tackle#: stuff.

MORNING SIGHTS AND DOINGS.

And now they begin to see, and the early life of the country-side
comes out: a market cart or two, men in smock-frocks going to their
work, pipe in mouth, a whiff of which is no bad smell this bright
morning. The sun gets up, and the mist shines like silver gauze. They
pass the hounds joggin