She had only got to the end of the long passage leading to the children's rooms when she ran against Miss King, closely followed by her maid and one, two, three other servants all pale and alarmed.
"What can it be?" each said to the other.
"Martin, Martin," cried Mrs. Caryll, "are you there? What is the matter?"
But before any Martin was to be seen, again the sounds shrilled through the house.
"Kurroo—kurallarrallo-oo-ook!" with a queer sudden sort of pull-up at the end, it seemed to sound.
They all turned to look at each other.
"It must be a real cock," said Miss King, looking less frightened.
"It certainly doesn't sound like croup," said Mrs. Caryll.
"It's just one of them mischievous bantams, ma'am," said the cook, a countrywoman who had made a study of cocks and hens. "They always give that sort of catchy croak at the end of their crows. But, to be sure, what a fright it's gave us all! And where can the creature be?"
As she spoke, Martin appeared at the end of the passage, a basket in her arms, her face pale, leading by the hand a small figure in a white nightgown, a figure that pulled and pushed and kicked valiantly in its extreme reluctance to come any farther.