Reginald was much
displeased when she took possession of the pitcher of broth.
'I will not walk with such a thing as that,' said he, 'it makes you
look like one of the dirty girls in the village.'
'Then you ought, like the courteous Rinaldo, to carry it for me,'
said Lily.
'I touch the nasty thing! Faugh! Throw it into the gutter, Lily.'
He made an attempt to dispose of it in that manner, which it required
all Lily's strength to withstand, as well as an imploring 'Now,
Redgie, think of the poor old people. Remember, you have promised.'
'Promised! I never promised to walk with a greasy old pitcher. What
am I to do if we meet Miss Weston?'
Lily contrived to overcome Reginald's refined notions sufficiently to
make him allow her to carry the pitcher; and when he had whistled up
two of the dogs, they proceeded merrily along the road, dirty and wet
though it was. Their walk was not entirely without adventures;
first, they had to turn back in the path by the river side, which
would have saved them half a mile, but was now flooded. Then, as
they were passing through a long lane, which led them by Edward
Gage's farm, a great dog rushed out of the yard, and fell upon the
little terrier, Viper.
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