“What now, ma’am,” inquired Mrs Niven, as Miss Peppy again paused and grew pale.
“The key!”
“Of the press?” inquired Niven.
“Yes—no; that is, it’s the key of the press, and not the key of my trunk. Here, take it,” (she thrust the key into the housekeeper’s hand, just as the engine gave a violent snort.) “What shall I do? My trunk won’t open without, at least I suppose it won’t, and it’s a new lock! what shall—”
“Make a parcel of the key, Niven,” said Kenneth, coming to the rescue, “and send it by the guard of next train.”
“And oh!” shrieked Miss Peppy, as the train began to move, “I forgot the—the—”
“Yes, yes, quick, ma’am,” cried Niven eagerly, as she followed.
“Oh! can’t they stop the train for a moment? It’s the—it’s—dear me—the pie—pie!”
“What pie, ma’am?”
“There’s three of them—for my brother’s dinner—I forgot to tell cook—it’ll put him out so—there’s three of ’em. It’s not the—the—two but the—the—other one, the what-d’ye-call-it pie.” Miss Peppy fell back on her seat, and gave it up with a groan. Suddenly she sprang up, and thrust out her head—“The deer pie,” she yelled.