"Oh, if you like to be a donkey," began Eustace in a lordly tone.
"Who was donkey first?" demanded Peter.
"I guess," said Nesta, who was accustomed to these scenes, "the buggy may be in sight at the first bend by now. I'm going to look."
Eustace followed.
"Well, Peter, what comes next?" asked Mr. Orban, without letting go the child's wrists.
Peter looked over his shoulder towards his mother—the blue eyes were swimming with tears, there was a choke in his voice.
"I'm sorry, mummie," he gasped.
The next moment he was clasped in his mother's arms, there was a manful struggle with gathering tears, and then like an arrow from a bow Peter was off to the veranda with every intention of thumping Eustace soundly. But the news that greeted him there put the recent fray right out of his mind.
"It is a buggy, Peter," said Nesta, "and I believe Bob Cochrane is driving it."
Now the Cochranes were the Orbans' nearest neighbours—the family that lived only five miles away. It consisted of a father and mother and this young fellow Robert, who was six-and-twenty, the idol and greatest admiration of the Orban children's hearts. In their eyes there was nothing Bob could not do; his shooting, his driving and riding, his jokes, his ways—everything about him was wonderful. A visit from Bob was a splendid event, no matter what the hour of the day.