ere were no houses with windows to overlook
me. I sauntered around at leisure, took the line of coaches in the
rear, and crawled back to my hiding-place--it astonished me with what
ease. Every driver sat on his box, and every driver slumbered.

The mystery of this was resolved when--it seemed an hour later; but
actually, I dare say, Bill's obsequies took but the normal twenty
minutes or so--Mr. Jope shepherded his flock back through the gates
and, red-eyed, addressed them while he distributed largess along the
line of jarveys.

"I thank ye, friends," said he in a muffled voice which at first I
attributed to emotion. "The fare home is paid to the foot of George
Street--I arranged that with the jobmaster, and this here little gift
is private, between me and the drivers, to drink Bill's health. And
now I'll shake hands." Here followed sounds of coughing and choking,
and he resumed in feeble gasping sentences, "Thank ye, my dear; I've
brought up the two guineas, but you've a-made me swallow my quid o'
baccy. Hows'ever, you meant it for the best. And that's what I had
a mind to say to ye all." His voice grew firmer--"You're a pleasant
lot, and we've spent the time very lively and sociable, and you done
this here last service to Bill in a way that brings tears to my eyes.
Still, if you won't mind my saying it, a little of ye lasts a long
time, and I'm going home to live clean. So here's wishing all well,
and good-bye!"

Not one of the party seemed to resent this dismissal. The women
laughed hilariously and called him a darling. There was a smacking
exchange of kisses; and the coaches, having been packed at length,
started for home to the strains of the cornet and a chorus of cheers.
Mr. Jope sprang in beside me, and leaning out of the farther window,
waved his neckerchief for a while, then pensively readjusted it, and
called to the driver--

"St. Budeaux!"

The driver, after a moment, turned heavily in his seat, and answered,
"Nonsense!"

"I tell ye, I want to drive to St. Budeaux, by Saltash Ferry."

"And _I_ tell _you_, 'Get out!' St. Budeaux? The idea!"

"Why, what's wrong with St. Budeaux?"

"Oh, I'm not goin' to _argue_ with you," said the driver. "I'm goin'
home."

And he began to turn his horse's head. Mr. Jope sprang out upon the
roadway. The driver, with sudden and unexpected agility, dropped
off--on the other side.

"Look here, it's grindin' the faces of the poor!" he pleaded,
breathi