“But Peggy’s the farmer; your uncle has enough to do to look after his patients. He’s a clever fo—man—so clever that some say he’s got medicine on the brain.”
Inna’s lips were sealed conscientiously; but out of the brief silence that followed she put the safe question—
“What colour’s your kitten?”
“White. Wouldn’t you like to take a peep at her?” and good-natured Dick held the hamper so that she might catch a glimpse of the small four-legged traveller.
“She’s a beauty!”—such was Inna’s opinion of her.
“And, according to you, she ought to have a beautiful name. But what of my sister Jane? I call her Jenny, and Jin; and that reminds me of the other gin with a g, you know; and that [p19] carries me on to trap, and trapper. I sometimes call her Trapper. That sounds quite romantic, and carries one away into North American Indian story life. Have you ever read any North American Indian stories—about Indians, and scalps, and all that?”
“No,” was the decisive, though smiling, reply.
Ah! they were steaming into a station again.
“Lakely at last, and this is my station!” cried Dick, gathering his belongings together, so as to be ready to leap out when the train stopped, while a porter went shouting up and down the platform, “Lakely! Lakely!”
“Well, good-bye, little friend; mind, Cherton comes next, then ’twill be your turn to turn out.” He wrung her hand, and was out on the platform in a twinkle, loaded like a bee, happy as a boy.