Nor was he disappointed. When the train steamed in, and the people sprang out of the carriages and looked around on the scene of beauty before them, the pretty houses in the little town, the fair sunset light on the hills, and the kind look upon the face of their master, they raised a ringing cheer, and the boys began to sing “For he’s a jolly good fellow” as boys only can sing.
They were soon streaming down, and up toward their homes, each party following their guide, and each naturally somewhat curious. Very soon there were exclamations of delight and satisfaction—“Well, I never!” “Did you ever!” “Ain’t it grand!” “We sha’n’t know ourselves here in these fine places.”
The men, a little incredulous, and half afraid that “things were not what they seemed,” but that, somehow or other, Mr. Knight meant “having” them over it, were sober in their praises and cautious in their joy. And so were some of the women, though most of them were in raptures.
“Now rub your shoes,” cried one mother to her children. “Don’t you know what a mat is for?”
Another turned to her husband with quivering lips (which he kissed) and said, “Jim, here’s a chance for us; we’ve never had one before;” and Jim replied, “Please God, we’ll make the best of it, old woman.”
“Here’s a lovely home, father; scrumptious, isn’t it? And tea ready for us! Why, here’s a loaf and everything we want to begin on. Isn’t it a splendid kitchen?”
“Mother, here’s a bath. Well, I never! I thought only gentlefolks’ houses had baths in ’em. The poor wasn’t supposed to get dirty.”
“Ain’t Mr. Knight a brick?”
“He is the brickiest brick in the world.”
“I’ll have a bath this very night. I wouldn’t go into that lovely bed without being clean.”