Then out came that story to add to the general misery, and old Mr. King sat
very straight and kept saying, "Bless me! Tell Thomas to drive faster," and
"Oh, bless me!" again, as he glanced over at the boy.
But no Joel. They pranced, the horses did, shaking off the rain from their
wet manes, around as much of the pond as was adapted to carriages, and
Jasper and Frick got out and explored the rest, at least wherever Joel
would be supposed to put into port, the boy holding up the arm that
appeared not to be in its usual condition and going along, too, yet unable
to add any information to his original statement. At last: "Probably Joel's
gone home"--it was all Jasper could do to get the words out of his white
lips.
Without a word old Mr. King sank back, and waved his hand, which meant
"Yes," settling down amongst the cushions hopelessly, while their faces
were turned homeward.
"Hullo!" Unmistakably Joel's voice, and there he was, wet and dirty, and
waving frantically from a side street for them to stop, as he made his best
time to the corner.
Jasper threw wide the door. "_Joe!_" he cried. Thomas pulled up again,
the horses by this time having become so well accustomed to this method of
bringing up that they did it quite well, and there was a great to-do in the
coach.
"I've been calling and calling," panted Joel, blowing like a porpoise, and
running up with red cheeks, "and you wouldn't stop," he added in a very
injured way.
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