However, the school habit of concentrating her attention prevailed, and the study quieted Nuttie's excitement. The expedition took place as arranged. There was a train which stopped so that the party could go down by it, and the distance was not too great for walking back.
Mr. Dutton met them on the platform, well armed with his neat silk umbrella, and his black poodle, Monsieur, trotting solemnly after him. Gerard Godfrey bore materials for an exact transcript of the Abbot's monumental cross, his head being full of church architecture, while Nuttie carried a long green tin case, or vasculum as she chose to call it, with her three vowels, U A E, and the stars of the Little Bear conspicuously painted on it in white.
'You did not venture on that the other day,' said Mr. Dutton. 'How much of the park do you mean to carry away in it?'
'Let me take it,' said Gerard politely.
'No, thank you. You'd leave it behind, while you were pottering over the mouldings.'
'You are much more likely to leave it behind yourself.'
'What—with my soldier, my Stratiotes, in it? I think I see myself.'
'Give it to me,' said Gerard. 'Of course I can't see you carrying a great thing like that.'
'Can't you, indeed?'
'Gently, gently, my dear,' said Miss Mary, as the young people seemed very near a skirmish, and the train was sweeping up. Then there was another small scuffle, for Nuttie had set her heart on the third class; but Mr. Dutton had taken second-class tickets, and was about to hand them into a carriage whence there had just emerged a very supercilious black-moustached valet, who was pulling out a leather-covered dressing-case, while Gerard was consoling Nuttie by telling her that Monsieur never deigned to go third class.