TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
out the house, which was then in sight. For Bateese’s nurse had black sins on her conscience, and, —weighing against the bliss of her first carriage ride, —was the fear of Mrs. Trent’s wrath. It seemed a simple and exciting thing to go on driving indefinitely, a childish version of “eat, drink and be merry;” so she held the fat hand of Bateese, put her feet on Cairlo’s back and, sitting very straight, thought of the lovely ladies she had seen in the course of her walks who did nothing all day but drive around and wear flowers.
Presently the cabman’s face appeared from above the second time and, after eyeing his small and dirty fares, with much disapprobation, he said,
“Say, you girl! —Wot’s the name of the folks wot live in the house you was goin’ to?”
“Don’t know,” answered Josephine haughtily.
