'If you could find me, sir, a basket that would just hold this kitten'—
Mr. Falkirk wasted no more words, but went off, and came back with a glass of milk and a plate of doubtful 'chunks' of cake. The room was empty. Bonnet and veil were gone, and even the kitten had disappeared. Meanwhile the stage coach rattled and swung up to the piazza steps, where were presently gathered the various travellers, one by one. 'Mr. Falkirk,' said Mr. Kingsland, as that gentleman came out rather hastily to see if his charge might be there, too, 'you are not surely—agoing on alone?'
Back went Mr. Falkirk into the house again to look for his missing ward, who had plainly been foraging. On the table was a paper of crackers; two blue-eyed and blue-aproned youngsters stood watching every motion as she swallowed the glass of milk, and in her hand was a suspicious looking basket. Wych Hazel set down her empty tumbler.
'My dear Mr. Falkirk, I was beginning to be concerned about you!'
'What are you going to do with that basket, Miss Hazel?'
'Take it along, sir.'
'On your lap, I suppose!'
'Mr. Falkirk, the accuracy of your judgment is unparalleled.
Is that our coach at the door?'
'My dear, you will find plenty of cats at Chickaree,' said her guardian, looking annoyed.
'Yes, sir—' said the young lady meekly, dropping her veil and fitting on her gloves.