She stood there half wringing her hands, till Martha gently pushed her towards the stairs.
'Up with you, miss—get yourself dressed as well as you can, not to let them see you like you are—you make yourself look sixty with them caps. I'll take them into the kitchen and make up a fire, and then I'll call you. It'll be all right; but bless me,'—'pless me,' she really said with her funny Welsh accent,—'how ever has there been such a mistake?'
She was busy unbolting and unbarring by now, and Miss Clotilda had disappeared. There was but one candle in the hall, but to the children's dazzled eyes it looked at first like a blaze of light. Neville was already on the doorstep, and somehow or other Kathleen was got out of the van without falling. Both started when they caught sight of Martha.
'Can she be Aunt Clotilda,' whispered Kathie, feeling that if it were so it would but be of a piece with everything else. And for a moment or two even Neville felt some misgiving.
'Are you—? We are'—and again he hesitated.
'To be sure, to be sure. Your aunty'll be down in a moment, sir; but to be sure there has indeed been some great mistake. Now, John Williams, good-night to you, and off with you. 'Tis no time for talking.' She added something to the effect that he might call the next day to be paid, but as she spoke Welsh, the children did not understand.
'I can't have him bothering about,' she said, as she closed the door.
'But our trunks,' said Neville. 'They're left at the station;' on which Martha opened the door again, and began scolding the poor man for not having told her so.
'It wasn't his fault,' said Neville, who could tell by her tone that poor John Williams was getting small thanks for his good-nature in bringing themselves, though without their luggage; 'he only brought us because we didn't know what else to do.'
And in the end it was settled that the carrier should call the next morning for orders about the trunks.