The pony trotted on so quickly, and it was such a flat road, that they very soon came to the farm. Mrs. Dufty came down to the gate in great delight at seeing Dreamikins again. With the help of his crutches, Fibo managed to leave the carriage and get into the kitchen. One of the farm lads held the pony, and then Dreamikins chattered away to her heart's content. Mrs. Dufty listened to her with a beaming face, and produced out of the oven a delicious little apple dumpling.
"'Twas just as if I were expecting you, lovie. Couldn't have baked itself in better time. Only wants to be eaten; and I'll just trot off and get some cream to go with it. And perhaps the gentleman will take a glass of cider, or a drop of my rhubarb wine. I believe we have some sloe gin, if he prefers that?"
Fibo thanked her, but declared a glass of milk would suit him best.
Dreamikins was in the farmer's big armchair, and a tortoise-shell cat sprang up into her lap and purred her approval of her.
"Aren't you happy, Fibo? Isn't it lovely here? Just look at those lovely china dogs and heads on the dresser! When I grow up I shan't have a drawn-room, but a kitchen just like this, and I shall have tea-parties in it. And look at the shining pans! It's perfectly exkisit!"
"When you grow up, Dreamikins," said Fibo, shaking his head at her, "I pity your mother from the bottom of my heart."
Dreamikins was too absorbed in stroking the cat to pay attention to what he said.
When Mrs. Dufty came back, Dreamikins sat up at the table and ate her baked apple dumpling, with a generous dab of cream on the top of it, with the greatest relish.
"A darling little lady," said smiling Mrs. Dufty, turning to Fibo.
"She's an anxious charge, Mrs. Dufty," said Fibo, smiling back.