"I presume so, ma'am," said Bunting. "It looks likely."
"Under these circumstances, Bunting," cried Miss Mackarness, "I feel it is my duty to communicate the facts to our lady. Give me the paper, Bunting!"
Bunting said he would get it, and came back with a hatful of fragments.
"If you please, ma'am, this is hall I can rescue of the details. The cook and the parlour-maid and the two 'ousemaids 'ave fought over it in the servants' 'all, and are now in tears, not 'aving read a word."
And Miss Mackarness took the hatful up to Penelope, who sat with her nurse and the cause of all the trouble in a south room overlooking the moat.
"In the name of all that is wonderful, what's in that hat?" asked Penelope.
"It is Timothy Bunting's hat, my lady," replied the Mackarness.
"So I perceive," said Penelope. "Is a bird in it?"
"Oh, no, my lady. It's the bits of a newspaper," replied the housekeeper, as if she served up the Times in a groom's hat every day. "It's Timothy's hat, but a clean new one."
"But why do you bring it, and why do you put newspaper in it?" asked Penelope.