'Can you tell me,' he began to the porter, but the porter was shouting in Welsh to the man in the van, and did not hear him. Neville thought he had better wait a minute, and he stood still, shivering with cold and vexation, the rain pouring down as surely never before rain had poured. Suddenly a voice beside him made him turn round; it was that of the old farmer, who had till now been engaged in the stationmaster's room, talking about the horse which was coming the next day.
'Is the lady not come? Is there no one to meet you?' he asked.
'No, indeed,' said Neville, 'and I don't know what to do.'
The old man looked sorry and perplexed, but Neville's face brightened at having found a friend. Just then the porter emerged again from the van.
'Hi, John Williams!' the farmer called out, and then followed some colloquy in Welsh, amid which Neville distinguished the words 'Hafod' and 'Ty-gwyn.'
The farmer turned to the boy.
'This is the Hafod carrier,' he said. 'He is going there now. He is very full, but he says as it is for Ty-gwyn he will make a push and take you and the young lady. But he can't take your boxes, not to-day. Still, it's a chance to get him to take yoursel's, and if you can make shift to do till to-morrow'—
'Of course,' said Neville; 'it's the only thing to do, and thank you very much indeed, Mr.'—
'John Davis, sir, John Davis of Dol-bach, if you please.'
'Mr. Davis,' continued Neville. 'Kathie,'—for by this time Kathie's anxiety had drawn her out into the rain too,—'you hear?' And he rapidly explained the state of matters.