My companion again inserted their heads in the corn-bags, and, leaving the animals to discuss their corn, returned with me to the dingle, where we found the kettle boiling.
We sat down, and Belle made tea and did the honours of the meal.

The postillion was in high spirits, ate heartily, and, to Belle's evident satisfaction, declared that he had never drank better tea in his life, or indeed any half so good.

Breakfast over, he said that he must now go and harness his horses, as it was high time for him to return to his inn.
Belle gave him her hand and wished him farewell: the postillion shook her hand warmly, and was advancing close up to her--for what purpose I cannot say--whereupon Belle, withdrawing her hand, drew herself up with an air which caused the postillion to retreat a step or two with an exceedingly sheepish look.

Recovering himself, however, he made a low bow, and proceeded up the path.

I attended him, and helped to harness his horses and put them to the vehicle; he then shook me by the hand, and taking the reins and whip, mounted to his seat; ere he drove away he thus addressed me: "If ever I forget your kindness and that of the young woman below, dash my buttons.