The cab had stopped at last.
"What are we stopping for?" exclaimed Salome.
"I expect this is the place," said Reginald, "for there is a baker's shop, and Pryor over it."
"Nonsense," said Raymond. But the cabman got down and tapped at the blurred glass, signing to Raymond to let it down, and saying, "Now then, sir, look sharp!"
"This can't be the place,—it's impossible,—it's a mistake."
But now a cheerful voice was heard, and, with a large cotton umbrella held over her, Ruth appeared.
"It's all right! This way, sir, round by the gate. I am sorry you have such a day, that I am; it makes everything look so dismal. Frank will come and help with the luggage."
Salome followed Ruth to the trellised porch, where the clematis was hanging limp and damp, with drops from every tendril. Just within the porch stood Mrs. Pryor. Smiles were not in her way at all. She looked as sad and melancholy as the day, and when the creaking omnibus was heard coming up the road and stopping at the gate, she held up her hands.
"All those boxes! it's ridic'lous to think of getting 'em in."
"Nonsense, mother; Frank will manage that in no time. There's lots of room, and a family must have things to use."