"I've been expecking and expecking till I'm worn out."
"Did you expect me?"
"Well, no, not exackly. You're rather dusty, but you're not in rags. It doesn't say what the stranger is to be like, but I'm sure you'll do."
When she came to her uncle's house the young man hesitated, and felt uncomfortable. But she led him into the garden in joyful triumph, and took him straight up to her uncle's invalid chair.
"Fibo dear, he's comed! The stranger has comed! And his room is quite, quite ready. And I've bringed him to you, so that it may be all right."
Fibo turned. The young man bowed.
"I'm a parson on a holiday," he said, "and the inn was full, and they couldn't put me up, and this little girl assured me I should get a bed here. She wouldn't take a No from me, so I came along. My name is George Ferrers. I'm a curate in Birmingham."
Fibo held out his hand.
"I believe you've done right to come," he said, "and I don't wonder my pixie led you here. Her soul is in the adventure."
"What does it mean?" asked George Ferrers.