Not all Emmerjane's instructions about keeping "as straight as a' arrow"
sufficed to show me which of the two roads to take and I looked about
for somebody to tell me.
It was then that I became aware of a shabby old four-wheeled cab which
stood in the triangular space in front of the statue, and of the driver
(an old man, in a long coachman's coat, much worn and discoloured, and a
dilapidated tall hat, very shiny in patches) looking at me while he took
the nose-bag off his horse--a bony old thing with its head hanging down.
I stepped up to him and asked my way, and he pointed it out to me--to
the right, over the bridge and through Stratford Market.
I asked how far it was to Ilford.
"Better nor two mile _I_ call it," he answered.
After that, being so tired in brain as well as body, I asked a foolish
question--how long it would take me to get there.
The old driver looked at me again, and said:
"'Bout a 'our and a 'alf I should say by the looks of you--and you
carryin' the biby."
I dare say my face dropped sadly as I turned away, feeling very tired,
yet determined to struggle through.
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