“To Mr. John Prowt, Haymore Lodge, Haymore, Yorkshire: I shall arrive with my wife and brother-in-law, the Rev. Cassius Leegh, by the one-thirty train, at Chuxton. Send one comfortable carriage to meet us.
“Randolph H. Hay.”
Mr. Campbell returned the slip of paper to the bailiff and fell into silence. He could make nothing of it. He was dumfounded.
“So you see it is all right, sir,” said the bailiff. “I shall send the open barouche, as the day is so fine, and with two footmen, besides the coachman. I suppose they will enter this town about half-past two o’clock.”
“Well,” said the dazed curate, “what do you wish me to do?”
“If you would give orders to the bell ringers, sir, to be at their post, and also have the parish school children drawn up each side the road leading to the park gate——”
“It is rather an unfavorable season—December—for children to be parading outdoors,” suggested the minister.
“Of course, sir, the kids can’t wear the white frocks and pink sashes and wreaths of flowers on their bare heads, as they could have done three months ago; but they can wear their picturesque winter uniform of red cloaks and hoods, and black woolen stockings and gloves; and as the weather is so remarkably fine, and the hour just after noon, in the warmest part of the day, I do not think the exposure will hurt them. Do you?”
“N-oo! I do not suppose it will.”
“Then will you kindly see to it, sir, that they are drawn up in proper array, to sing their songs of welcome and throw their flowers before the bridal pair?”