This was as a very grim, serious-looking, grey-haired woman appeared in the porch.
“Back again, Mrs F.,” cried Uncle Richard cheerily. “Here, this is my nephew, who has come to stay. Get my telegram?”
“Oh yes, sir, and everything’s ready, sir.”
Just then a sun-browned man, with a blue serge apron rolled up and tucked in round his waist, came up, touched his hat, and looked at the luggage.
“Morning, David. The box and portmanteau for indoors. The boxes to be very carefully placed in the coach-house. Glass, mind. Here, driver, give your horse some hay and water; David will see to it, while you go round to the kitchen for a crust of bread-and-cheese. Mind and be careful with those packages.”
“Oh yes, sir, certainly,” said the man; and he led the horse on amongst the shrubs; while as Tom followed his uncle into the prettily-furnished museum-like hall, he thought to himself—
“I wonder whether uncle knows how they laugh at him behind his back.”
“Dinner at two, Mrs Fidler, I suppose?” said Uncle Richard just then.
“Yes, sir, precisely, if you please,” was the reply.
“That’s right. Here, Tom, let’s go and see if they have smashed the glass in the packages.”