She swung the indignant Placid round, and in two minutes she was out of the pony-trap and had Tony in her strong arms.
Miles tipped the porter and drove off. He, too, realised that there was some sort of a "misteree," something painful and unpleasant for Miss Ross, and that she would probably prefer that no questions were asked.
Whatever mischief could that young Tony have been after? And dared Miles call at Wren's End that evening, in the hope of a glimpse of Meg, or would it look inquisitive and ill-bred?
Placid turned a mild, inquiring head to discover the reason for this new delay.
When Jan, after paying Tony's fare back from the junction, had driven away, the old porter, the ticket-collector, and the station-master sat in conclave on the situation. And their unanimous conclusion was summed up by the old porter: "Byes be a mishtiful set of young varmints, an' it warn't no job for a lone 'ooman to 'ave to bring 'em up."
The lone woman in question held her reins in one hand and her other arm very tightly round the dirty little boy on the seat beside her.
As they drove through the village neither of them spoke, but when they reached the Wren's End Road, Tony burst into tears.
"I am so hungry," he wailed, "and I feel so nasty in my inside."
As Meg was putting him to bed that night she inquired if he had done anything with his green jersey, for she couldn't find it.