“Race you to the station,” he said, pretending he hadn’t seen Minkie.

“Right,” said I; “but, to make a match of it, you ought to get Mole to harness you to his little girl’s toy pram.”

This remark seemed to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know then about the rat-tatling messenger boy. Anyhow, he met the doctor’s poodle in the village, so he joined us at the station in a good temper.

When the train arrived, it brought heaps of people. It always puzzles me that folk should gorge more at Christmas time than any other. Every man, woman, and child carried half-a-dozen parcels, and nearly every parcel held something to eat. Some of the men hugged long narrow boxes, which looked as if they contained wax candles, but which really held a bottle of whisky. I know, because Jim....

[Pg 8]

[Pg 8]

“Mr. Grosvenor hasn’t come, miss,” said Jim, when the crowd thinned.

“Who said he was coming?” asked Minkie.

“Well, Evangeline thought—”

“Evangeline never thinks. The doctor has warned her against it. If ever she tries to do anything of the kind the excitement will kill her. No, Jim. Dad has told a Mr. Schwartz to come on by this train, and make himself at home until he joins him later. Schwartz is German for black. Most Germans are dumpy. But things often go by contraries. Our green-grocer is named Brown, so Mr. Schwartz should be a tall thin man, with straw hair and white eyebrows.”

Nail my shoes, she wasn’t far out of it. A humpbacked porter came along with a couple of portmanteaux, followed by a heavy swell who was up to specification except as to the color of his hair, which was chestnut.

“This is Mr. Grosvenor’s carriage, sir,” said the porter.

“Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?” said the newcomer, grinning at Minkie.

[Pg 9]

[Pg 9]

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