‘Now!’ he said, ‘come on out, Miss Amabel, unless you want to go to Whereyoudon’twantogoto.’
She hurried out, on to an ivory platform.
‘Not on the ivory, if you please,’ said the porter, ‘the white Axminster carpet—it’s laid down expressly for you.’
Amabel walked along it and saw ahead of her a crowd, all in white.
‘What’s all that?’ she asked the friendly porter.
‘It’s the Mayor, dear Miss Amabel,’ he said,
‘with your address.’
[p228]
‘My address is The Old Cottage, Amberley,’ she said, ‘at least it used to be’—and found herself face to face with the Mayor. He was very like Uncle George, but he bowed low to her, which was not Uncle George’s habit, and said:
‘Welcome, dear little Amabel. Please accept this admiring address from the Mayor and burgesses and apprentices and all the rest of it, of Whereyouwantogoto.’
The address was in silver letters, on white silk, and it said: