'Bless 'em!' said Nancy. 'There won't be any other folk's children there that can beat 'em, to my mind!'
Father was waving a good-bye from the stackyard. Joe held the gate open with a grin of broadest appreciation, and even old David peeped out of the stable door to witness the departure. So they started off in great style, and in the very highest of spirits. It was a perfect day for a party—warm enough to make it pleasant to be out of doors, yet not too hot for comfort, and a blue sky without a hint of rain clouds. Pixie was fresh, and kept up a fine pace, scarcely slacking for the hills, so they soon got over the ground. They were within a mile of Warford, and were going along at a quick trot, when, without any warning, a carriage and pair came suddenly dashing up behind from a side road, and passed them, giving such scant room that if Peggy had not been a clever little driver, and turned Pixie smartly into the hedge, an accident could scarcely have been avoided. Two little girls, the only occupants of the carriage, turned round to stare, but neither the grand cockaded coachman nor the tall footman on the box even looked back to see how the children had fared.
'How rude!' cried Peggy in great indignation. 'I should like to call them back, and teach them good manners. They nearly grazed our wheel. I don't think they were more than half an inch off!'
'I wish they had,' declared Bobby, 'and then they would have spoilt their own varnish. It would just have served them right!'
'I wonder who they are?' said Peggy. 'I never remember seeing that carriage before; but they seem to think the road belongs to them, anyhow. If David had been with us I don't believe they would have done it; but most people are so nice when they see children driving alone. Never mind, we're nearly in Warford now.'
It was exactly three o'clock when the children drove up the drive at Redlands. A number of guests were already assembled on the lawn, both grown-ups and children, a very smart company indeed, holding up such gay parasols that they looked like a flock of bright butterflies.
Maud came forward as Peggy drew up with a little prim company manner.
'How d'you do, Peggy? How d'you do, Bobby?' she said. 'Lilian not come? Oh, so sorry! You've not brought your groom? George, just run into the house, will you, and ring for Withers to take this trap to the stables. Now, won't you come and speak to mother?'
Mrs. Middleton was standing chatting with a number of elegantly-dressed ladies, and for a moment she gazed at the children with blank unrecognition.
'Margaret Vaughan, Mother,' prompted Maud.