"Corona, a word with you, my dear."
Corona went to him, and he said:
"After you have had an explanation with Violet, persuade her to accompany you to North End. You had better come in your own pony carriage, my dear; it is so easy and the horse so safe. And then, after you have left us, I can drive her home in the same vehicle. And, by the way, my dear, what shall you do with that little turnout? Shall I send it to Hyde's livery stable for sale? You can get double what was given for it. And remit you the price?"
"No, Uncle Fabian; it is not to be sold. And I am glad you reminded me of it. I have intended all along to give it to our minister's wife. She has no carriage of any sort, and she really needs one, and she will enjoy this because she can drive the pony herself. So, after I have gone, will you please send it to Mrs. Melville, with my love?"
"Certainly, my dear; with the greatest pleasure. Cora, that is well thought of. Now I must go up to the nursery and bid good-by to baby, or her mother would never forgive me."
And high and heavy Mr. Fabian tripped up the stairs like a lamplighter.
Corona lingered in the hall, talking with Mr. Clarence, who had now come there to put on his overcoat. Presently Mr. Fabian came hurrying down stairs alone. He had left Violet in the sanctuary.
"Come, come, Clarence, hurry up! We are late! What if the monarch should reach the works before us? I shouldn't like to meet him in his roused wrath! Should you?
"Old age ne'er cooled the Douglass blood!"
said Mr. Fabian, hurriedly pulling on his overcoat, seizing hat and gloves, and with a hasty—