It seemed to me as if starting-time would never come, and I fidgeted in
and out from the kitchen to the stable to see if Ike had come back,
while Mrs Dodley kept on shaking her at me in a pitying way.
"Hadn't you better give it, up, my dear?" she said dolefully. "Out all
night! It'll be a trying time."
"What nonsense!" I said. "Why, sailors have to keep watch of a night
regularly."
"When the stormy wynds do blow," said Mrs Dodley with something between
a sniff and a sob. "Does Mrs Beeton know you are going?"
"No," I said stoutly.
"My poor orphan bye," she said with a real sob. "Don't--don't go."
"Why, Mrs Dodley," I cried, "any one would think I was a baby."
"Here, Grant," cried Mr Brownsmith, "hadn't you better lie down for an
hour or two. You've plenty of time."
"No, sir," I said stoutly; "I couldn't sleep if I did."
"Well, then, come and have some supper."
That I was quite willing to have, and I sat there, with the old
gentleman looking at me every now and then with a smile.
"You will not feel so eager as this next time, Master Grant."
At last I heard the big latch rattle on the gate, and started up in the
greatest excitement. Old Brownsmith gave me a nod, and as I passed
through the kitchen Mrs Dodley looked at me with such piteous eyes and
so wrinkled a forehead that I stopped.
"Why, what's the matter?" I asked.
"Oh, don't ask me, my dear, don't ask me. What could master be
a-thinking!"
Her words filled me with so much dread that I hurried out into the yard,
hardly knowing which I feared most--to go, or to be forced to stay at
home, for the adventure through the dark hours of the night began to
seem to be something far more full of peril than I had thought a ride up
to market on the cart would prove.
The sight of Ike, however, made me forget the looks of Mrs Dodley, and
I was soon busy with him in the stable--that is to say, I held the
lantern while he harnessed "Basket," the great gaunt old horse whom I
had so nicknamed on account of the way in which his ribs stuck out
through his skin.
"You don't give him enough to eat, Ike," I said.
"Not give him enough to eat!" he replied. "Wo ho, Bonyparty, shove yer
head through. That's the way. Not give him enough to eat, my lad!
Lor' bless you, the more he eats the thinner he gets. He finds the work
too hard for him grinding his oats, for he's got hardly any teeth worth
anything."