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Antony's caravan was going to be taken to the district station, round by the road, with farmer Duncan's three sturdy horses, his own having been shipped to England days ago. And the duty of packing it so that nothing should be broken during transit was to devolve upon Mary, with the assistance of Lotty and Chops.
Now, it is really wonderful how little a great caravan, say twenty or more feet long, is moved or shaken during a long journey by train after the wheels have been taken off, and she lies snugly on the trolley, her weight supported on her own springs. Instead of going by slow luggage-train, on which her superb varnishing, gilding, and ornamental scroll-work would have the certainty of being smoked and soiled, however well covered up, she was to travel special rate, by passenger-train, so that she would not really be on the road—so the railway traffic-manager promised—more than four-and-twenty hours, from the far north through London itself to Bristol. And here Antony Blake had resolved to meet her himself, with his splendid horses, and drive down to Manby Hall, in order that his people might see for themselves what a palace-on-wheels the 'Gipsy Queen' really was.
The caravan would be protected by sheeting, soft and white but impervious to dust and rain. This was made in different pieces, not as one clumsy whole, nor did it hang too tightly, for if it had done so it would, with its various ropes, tauten up during rain and injure the sides.
The skylight itself was not covered, so that the saloon and the bedroom both had plenty of light. Indeed, the side-sheets and roof-piece had often been put over her when doing her great winter tour in the early part of the year; and, independent of these, the fore and aft coloured glass ports of the large domed skylight could be carried open for fresh air.
Mary determined that the caravan should be quite ready for Antony to step into as soon as it arrived at its far-off destination; so she carefully fixed every vase and glass and cup in the cupboard, so that, although they could not shift, they did not appear to be fixed. The same with his books, fairy editions of a great many of his favourite authors, in a fairy-like bookcase. It was Lotty herself who dusted and arranged these, and it was indeed a labour of love, a labour to linger over, thinking sadly as she did so of the kind and handsome friend she might never see again.
But everything was ship-shape at last, and she spent all the time she could spare in the dear old saloon so fraught with many happy recollections. But one night, not long before the caravan was going to start, while sleeping in her own little cot in the 'Silver Queen,' Lotty dreamt a dream, and woke early in the morning thinking of it. She thought that she was travelling all by herself, not in an ordinary third-class carriage as she had intended, but in his—Antony's—caravan.
Lotty was a brave girl, and the romance of that dream appealed to her so much that she determined it should come true. She would only be twenty-four hours on the road, and she could let herself out when it reached London, and, locking the door again, find her way to Highgate Heath. Oh! the plan was delightful above all things, if it could only be managed; and so she confided her plans to Chops, and between their two wise heads it was determined that carried out they could and should be.
Crona was also taken into their confidence, and so was the kindly porter at the railway station far away over the moor. Chops had been sent across to purchase the little lass's ticket, and told the honest fellow. He was, like everybody else, very fond indeed of Lotty, and delighted now that she had taken him into her confidence.
'It'll be all right, won't it, George?' said Chops.