She—mamma, I mean—was sitting quietly where we had left her, reading, in the new chair. And it was nice to see the bright look of pleasure which came over her face when she realised that it was Taisy, really Taisy, and not an 'optical illusion,' who stood before her and then hugged and kissed her as no illusion could have done.
'But, my child,' said she, 'where——'
'Where are you going to put me?' interrupted our new guest; 'look, auntie, look up and see,' and she pointed to the van, which was just coming in sight again. 'I have brought my house with me.'
Mamma's face looked completely puzzled now.
'I will explain,' Theresa went on, and indeed George and I wanted this part of it explained as much as mamma did. 'That lovely old thing that's lumbering along is Granny's discarded luggage-waggonette. It hasn't been used for centuries; it is really a small omnibus more than a waggonette. I ferreted it out in one of the coach-houses, where I was poking about with a vague idea that I might find something of the kind to make it possible for me to come to you after all. And I got the coachman to help me. We had it thoroughly dried and aired, and the seats at one side taken out—and a friend of the coachman's, who is a clever carpenter, has fitted it up. You will see. There is a table that slips down when not wanted, and a frame in one corner to hold a basin and ewer, and hooks for hanging things, and a tray like a deep drawer under the seat that's to be the bed. Oh, it's lovely! and really as good as a cabin on board ship,' and Taisy stopped to take breath.
'And did Aunt Emmeline know about it?' asked mamma.
'She gave me leave to do what I liked with the old thing,' said Taisy; adding candidly, 'I did not tell her what I was doing till it was all ready. She thought I was fixing it up for photographing, I think. But in the end she was nearly as excited about it as I was, and she gave me all sorts of things—blankets and pillows and crockery and little curtains. It's just stuffed with things—inside and out—though I brought as few personal things—clothes, I mean—as possible, for I don't want to crowd you up, you see. I shall have room for everything when it's all unpacked, you will see,' she added, with a touch of apology in her voice.
'Dearest child,' said mamma, 'as if we would mind that, if you were comfortable.'
Taisy's eyes beamed.
'Comfortable,' she repeated; 'that is no word for what I am going to be.'