"It's all right, Aunt," came the cheery answer. "Though perhaps it _was_ rather silly of me to start work upon a Friday. The railway profession is very much overcrowded just now, and there's not a single vacancy for station-master anywhere. They have put my name on the waiting list, and as soon as there's a job going, they will write and let me know. I am quite content to wait, and I may just as well do it here as in expensive lodgings." "How long do you expect to wait?" "Can't tell. It may be a slow business, but it's sure. A station-master told me you may have to wait year after year, but promotion is bound to come at last--if you live long enough." "Then you may do nothing for years." "I'm not going to take anything; I owe it to my uncle's memory to occupy a respectable position. Still, if I can't get a terminus after a few months' waiting, I'll put up with a small junction. Rather than not work at all, I would condescend to act as a mere Inspector," said George with dignity. "I wish the vicar would shave off his moustache," Miss Yard murmured. CHAPTER VI HONOURABLE INTENTIONS Every evening at nine Mrs. Drake drank a cup of coffee. This was a custom of some historical importance, and it originated after the following manner: Captain Drake had a great liking for a small glass of whisky and water after his evening pipe; but, during the first few weeks of married life, refrained from divulging this weakness to his wife, who could not understand why he became so restless at the same time every evening. The Captain explained that, when he had finished smoking, he suffered from an incurable longing to arise and walk about the house. Mrs. Drake advised him to take exercise by all means, and the Captain did so, wandering towards the dining room at nine o'clock, and returning about ten minutes later in a thoroughly satisfied state of mind. But one evening the lady heard him whisper to the servant, "Water, my child! Water!"--the Captain never could whisper properly--and upon another evening she distinguished the creak of a corkscrew, while every evening she was able to detect a subtle aroma which could not have been introduced as one of the ordinary results of walking about the house. "So you are fond of whisky," she said sharply. "Well, not exactly fond of it, my dear," stammered the Captain. "Really I don't care for whisky, but I like the feeling it gives me." "I don't like hypocrisy, and I dislike still more the feeling it gives me. In future we will drink together. When you take your glass of whisky, I will have a cup of coffee," she replied. After the arrival of Miss Yard at Windward House, she too was offered the cup, but declined, as she abhorred coffee. "But it's cocoa," explained Kezia. "Why do you call it coffee then?" asked Miss Yard, who had quite enough to perplex her poor brain without this unnecessary difficulty.