They caught a train on the funny little branch-line which turned them out at Uffington, and, armed with Mr. Scott's present, "The Scouring of the White Horse," which Mary carried and occasionally read scraps from as they walked along, they made for the green hills and the famous animal cut on their side. To reach it was impossible, for the London train left at 6.24, and it was now nearly three, and there was tea to be eaten; but they came near enough to see it distinctly, and to marvel that the name of horse should ever have been given to it. As Gregory said, "It's no more like a horse than Shakespeare is like a swan."
And then they had tea at a nice inn at Uffington, in a parlour full of photograph frames, and returned to the station.
As the train left, they leaned back in their seats, a great deal more tired than they had ever been in the Slowcoach.
"What a hateful rate this train goes at!" said Robert. "I prefer two miles an hour."
"Oh, yes," they said.
At Paddington they found Collins and Eliza Pollard, with a station omnibus, and they rattled down to Chiswick, pouring out the news, especially that from Lycett's farm.
And so, after dropping Mary and Jack and Horace at their homes, they came once again to "The Gables." A cold supper was waiting for them—one of those nice late meals after a journey—and Mrs. Avory and Runcie sat with them while they ate it.
"You must be glad to be back," Runcie said, "and to sleep in nice beds once more."
"Oh, Runcie," said Hester, "you don't really understand anything."
"I understand what King Edward's head is like on a shilling," said Runcie, with a little twinkle at Janet.