“Buck up, old kiddie,” said Jim. “We’ll be home in no time. And look after Dad.”
“Yes—rather!” said Norah. “Send me all your socks when they want darning—which is every week.”
“Right.” They looked at each other with the blank feeling of having nothing to say that comes on station platforms or on the decks of ships before the final bell rings. Then the train came in sight, the elderly porter, expectant of a tip, bustled mightily with suit-cases and kit-bags, and presently they were gone. The two brown faces hung out of the carriage-window until the train disappeared round a curve.
Norah and her father looked at each other.
“Well, my girl,” said he. “Now I suppose we had better begin our job.”
They went out to the carriage. Just as they were getting in, the ancient porter hurried after them.
“There’s some people come by that train for you, sir.”
The Lintons turned. A thin man, with sad Irish eyes, was limping out of the station. Behind him came two girls.
“Why, it’s Con!” Norah cried.
“It is, miss,” said the chauffeur. “And the gerrls I have with me—Bridie and Katty.”