"Poor Carrots," said Floss. And her anxiety to see her little brother in comfort again gave her courage to ring the bell as loudly as she could. A manservant opened the door. Very tall and formidable he looked to the two children, whose eyes were dazzled by the sudden light, after their long walk in the dusk. "If you please," said Floss, "is auntie at home?" The man stared. "_What_ did you say?" he inquired. "Is it a message from some one?" "Oh no," said Floss, "it's just that we've come, Carrots and I--will you please tell auntie? We've walked all the way from the station, because there was no one to meet us." The man still stared. He had heard something about a young lady and gentleman, his mistress's nephew and niece, being expected on a visit, but his ideas were rather slow. He could not all at once take in that the dilapidated little couple before him could possibly be the looked for guests. But just then another person came upon the scene. A little figure with bright dark eyes and flying hair came dancing into the hall. "Who's there, Fletcher?" she said. "Is it the post?" "No miss," said Fletcher, rather glad of some one to consult in his perplexity. "I don't know who it is--that's to say, it's a little boy and girl who say as they've come from the station, but I can't justly make out who it is they want." "How funny," said Sybil, coming forward and peering out from under Fletcher's arm, "perhaps they'll tell _me_ what they want. Who are you, little girl? Is it my mother you want? Will you give me your message?" She looked more like a little princess than ever. She was dressed to go down to the drawing-room before dinner--all white embroidery and lace and rose-coloured ribbons. Floss and Carrots looked at her with a sort of dazzled admiration, mingled with shy bewilderment. It all seemed more of a mistake than ever--Sybil was evidently not expecting them--if only the railway station had not been so dreadfully far away, Floss felt as if she would have liked to take Carrots by the hand and go away back again, all the long weary way to Sandyshore! But _Carrots'_ faith in auntie and Sybil was unshaken--and his childlike confidence less susceptible of chill. Partly from mortification, partly to hide that she was crying, Floss stood perfectly silent, but Carrots pressed forward. "It is Flossie and me, Sybil--don't you remember us? We've walked _such_ a long way, and there was nobody to meet us at the station, and we are _so_ cold and so hungry!" Sybil gave a sort of leap into the air. "Floss and Carrots!" she cried, "oh mother, mother, come quick, here are Floss and Carrots!" She seemed to fly across the hall in one second, and darting down a passage disappeared, crying out all the way, "Flossie and Carrots--oh mother, mother, come."