“Duchess of Normandy,” said Thomas, “when is Dicky Bill coming from town?”
“Dicky Bill is one of the stable boys,” explained Mr. Bonstone.
The Duchess was scratching ten times in the snow with her hoof.
“Hille ho, hille ho, hille ho,” sounded a sudden ringing voice.
We all turned, and there was Dicky Bill tearing up the asphalt path from the electric car line.
He didn’t see us, and he rushed into the stable yard, and threw his arm round the glossy neck of the Duchess—“Hello! old girl.”
“Just look at that boy’s colour,” whispered Gringo, “and six months ago, he was a washed-out rag.”
Dicky Bill was pulling at his cap in confusion. He had just discovered Mr. Bonstone.
“You’ve made the Duchess tell a lie,” said Thomas.