"
"What if we're late?" said Tom.
"No tea, and sent up to the Doctor," answered East.
The thought didn't add to their cheerfulness. Presently a faint halloo
was heard from an adjoining field. They answered it and stopped, hoping
for some competent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some twenty
yards ahead crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a state of collapse. He had
lost a shoe in the brook, and had been groping after it up to his elbows
in the stiff, wet clay, and a more miserable creature in the shape of
boy seldom has been seen.
The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for he was some degrees
more wretched than they. They also cheered him, as he was no longer
under the dread of passing his night alone in the fields. And so, in
better heart, the three plashed painfully down the never-ending lane. At
last it widened, just as utter darkness set in, and they came out on
a turnpike road, and there paused, bewildered, for they had lost all
bearings, and knew not whether to turn to the right or left.
Luckily for them they had not to decide, for lumbering along the road,
with one lamp lighted and two spavined horses in the shafts, came a
heavy coach, which after a moment's suspense they recognized as the
Oxford coach, the redoubtable Pig and Whistle.
It lumbered slowly up, and the boys, mustering their last run, caught
it as it passed, and began clambering up behind, in which exploit East
missed his footing and fell flat on his nose along the road.
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