"It is," he explained, with a jerky salutation of the whip, "the Sunday-school treat departing for Yarmouth. They marched in here with a brass band--too much--Whoa! le petit , whoa!--too much for our feelings. There-- bonjour , Monsieur Turner--how goes it? There--now we stand still.
"Not for long," said Turner, doubtfully; "and I never get in or out of anything when it is in motion."
With the assistance of sundry idle persons we held the horse still enough for my friend to take his seat beside Alphonse, while I and the luggage found place behind them. We dashed out of the gate at a speed and risk which gave obvious satisfaction to our driver, and our progress up the narrow High Street was a series of hairbreadth escapes.
"It is a pleasure," said Alphonse, airily, as we passed the light
