In front of them was a white gate which stood open and led into what looked like a farmyard, for there were sheds and outbuildings round it and straw scattered about. Through this they drove, jolting over a good many rough obstacles and then through another gate and stopped. They had arrived at last, and this was Truslow Manor. All Biddy could see, however, was a deep stone porch, with a seat on each side of it like the entrance to a church, and then a massive oak door, with heavy hinges and a great brass knocker. There was no light anywhere; but presently, as Biddy, stiff with cold, was preparing to unwind her many wrappings, the door swung slowly back, and a little figure appeared with a lamp in its hand. By its faint glimmer she recognised her new mistress, Mrs Roy, whom she had already seen in London. "Oh, Richard," said a plaintive voice, "how glad I am you're back! Is the girl there?" "Here we are," answered Mr Roy cheerfully, as he helped Biddy to climb out of the cart. "It's an awful night. How's the baby?" "I don't think she's _worse_, but the spots are still there, and Mr Smith hasn't been. Come in, Biddy." Following her mistress Biddy found herself in a narrow stone passage, and caught through an open door to the left a glimpse of a panelled room lighted up by a great glowing wood fire. It looked splendidly comfortable after the cold dreariness outside. Mrs Roy opened another door at the end of the passage. "Mrs Shivers," she said to some invisible person within, "here's Biddy Lane. Please, give her some tea, and let her get warm, and then send her to me in the drawing-room." The door closed on Biddy, and Mrs Roy returned to the panelled room, where her husband, having emerged from his wet wrappings, was spreading his hands over the blaze and shivering. "Well, Richard," she said earnestly, "what do you think of her?" "Of whom?" asked Richard. "Why, of the girl." "Well, I think, judging by myself, she must be cold and hungry." "She's _very_ small," continued Mrs Roy, sitting down in a low chair and glancing thoughtfully at the cradle which stood near it--"smaller than I thought." "Who? The baby?" "No. Of course, I mean the girl. I wish you wouldn't joke, Richard, when you know how anxious I am." "I didn't mean to, really," said Mr Roy penitently, as his wife looked up at him with distressed blue eyes. "Only, as you always call the baby `She,' how was I to know? As to being _small_, you know--well, the last girl was _big_ enough, I'm sure." "And stupid enough," added Mrs Roy sadly. "I couldn't have kept her, even if she hadn't insisted on going away." "I suppose you've cautioned Mrs Shivers not to gossip to this girl?" said Mr Roy in lowered tones. "Oh, yes, indeed," answered his wife, casting a nervous glance round the room. "She won't hear anything about _that_. And I do hope, if she's handy with the baby, that she'll stay. It _would_ be such a comfort. Only I wish she wasn't so small."