Lorry explained by barks that this really was an exceptional occasion. Unless he informed her in time, Philip would certainly carry in at the back-door a dirty, indifferent ragamuffin of a boy. He was still arguing the case when the young lady, with her own eyes, saw Philip coming carrying a ragged boy, just as Lorry was telling her he would. Forgetting her hall flags, she ran out on the steps to call Philip. Lorry rushed in, made a swift but devastating journey round the hall and into the parlour, and out again, saying plainly: "Exactly what I said!" Lady Dorothy Byng lived alone in the big old Tudor house at the bottom of the lane. Old Philip was her butler and house-steward, and Bridget, his wife, was her maid. She need not ask anyone's leave to have Dick carried into her oak-panelled parlour, and laid on a settle by the fire. Lorry, it is true, remonstrated to the best of his ability, but, failing to convince her, he lay down to watch operations. In his opinion, starving creatures should be restored with chicken-bones, not bread-and-milk, but he could not convince anyone of that either. Dick opened his eyes in the strange room, and saw kind faces. "Dream," he murmured, and shut them again. In this condition he drank milk until he was persuaded of its reality. The comfort was almost unbearable. He turned his cheek on a soft cushion, and fell asleep. "Well, Philip," said Lady Dorothy next morning, "what think you of our little waif?" Dick had slept the night in Philip's room. "Well, my Lady," the old butler replied, "'tis an ill-groomed colt, to be truthful; but, begging your pardon, Bridget saith its skin is as soft and fine as your Ladyship's; bruised, all of a mass, madam, but white as milk now Bridget hath washed him. And hair, Bridget saith, like spun silk." Lady Dorothy lifted her eyebrows. "Upon my word, I must go up and see this prodigy, Philip. Is it asleep?" "Not now, my Lady. But I'll carry him down if it pleases you to see him." "No, no," she said, "I'll go up."