Pretty soon the clouds cleared away without notice, as they do in this country, and it wasn’t long before I saw, away off, the old man’s bath-chair coming along lively.  His bottle-nose was sticking up in the air, and he was looking from one side to the other as hard as he could.  The two lovers had turned off to the right and gone over a little bridge and I couldn’t see them; but by the way that old nose shook as it got nearer and nearer to me, I saw they had reason to tremble, though they didn’t know it.

When the old father reached the narrow path he did not turn down it, but kept straight on, and I breathed a sigh of deep relief.  But the next instant I remembered that the broad path turned not far beyond, and that the little one soon ran into it, and so it could not be long before the father and the lovers would meet.  I like to tell Jone everything I am going to do, when I am sure that he’ll agree with me that it is right; but this time I could not bother with explanations, and so I just told him to sit still for a minute, for I wanted to see something, and I walked after the young couple as fast as I could.  When I got to them, for they hadn’t gone very far, I passed the young woman’s bath-chair, and then I looked around and I said to her, “I beg your pardon, miss, but there is an old gentleman looking for you; but as I think he is coming round this way, you’ll meet him if you keep on this path.”  “Oh, my!” said she unintentionally; and then she thanked me very much, and I went on and turned a corner and went back to Jone, and pretty soon the young man’s bath-chair passed us going toward the gate, he looking three-quarters happy, and the other quarter disappointed, as lovers are if they don’t get the whole loaf.

From that day until yesterday, which was a full week, I came into the gardens every morning, sometimes even when Jone didn’t want to come, because I wanted to see as much of this love business as I could.  For my own use in thinking of them I named the young man Pomeroy and the young woman Angelica, and as for the father, I called him Snortfrizzle, being the worst name I could think of at the time.  But I must wait until my next letter to tell you the rest of the story of the lovers, and I am sure you will be as much interested in them as I was.

Letter Number Nineteen

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BUXTON

I have a good many things to tell you, for we leave Buxton to-morrow, but I will first finish the story of Angelica and Pomeroy.  I think the men who pulled the bath-chairs of the lovers knew pretty much how things was going, for whenever they got a chance they brought their chairs together, and I often noticed them looking out for the old father, and if they saw him coming they would move away from each other if they happened to be together.