It was not a fly. It was a large, lumbering, disreputable conveyance that plied daily between Bath and sundry villages, and was called Tuppin's van. Disreputable as compared with a genteel, exclusive Bath fly that carried gentlefolk. This was used only by the lower classes; people who knew nothing about "society." Nevertheless, Edina was in it. Old Tuppin, throwing the reins across his horses, had left his box to go round to the door, which opened at the back like an omnibus. A sudden silence had fallen on the children. Edina got out. And Tuppin, touching his hat to Major and Mrs. Raynor, selected her trunk from the luggage on the roof, and placed it inside the gate. Three outside male passengers watched the proceedings. Edina put a shilling into Tuppin's hand. He thanked her, ascended to his seat, touched his horses, turned them round, and drove up the avenue with a clatter. Edina was smothered with greetings and kisses on the lawn. "But how could you come in that van, Edina?" "There were very few carriages at the station, Charley. The only one I could see wanted to charge six shillings. This van--but I call it an omnibus--was waiting for a passenger, and I took advantage of it." "It is Tuppin's van," persisted Charley. "No one ever travels by it, except servants." "No one with a full pocket, perhaps," smiled Edina, with her imperturbable good-humour. "I paid a shilling only, and came very comfortably." "There was an old woman inside as well as you, Edina," cried Alfred. "Yes. It was she who came by the same train, and got out at the station. She is housekeeper, she told me, in some family near here." Edina caught up little Bobby as she spoke, and the matter dropped. But an impression remained on the minds of the elder children that Edina was more stingy than ever, or she would never have travelled in Tuppin's van when there was a fly to be had for the hiring. Certainly Edina's were saving ways. Contrasted with their own reckless ones, they appeared "stingy." But the time was to come when they would learn how mistaken was the impression, and how they had misjudged her. "And how are you getting on, Uncle Francis?" asked Edina. "Going backwards, my dear. What with no money, so to say, coming in, and everything going out----" The major stopped for want of adequate words to express the position. Edina resumed. "But you have some money coming in, Uncle Francis. You have your income." "But what is it, my dear, as compared with the expenses? Besides, to tell you the truth, it is always forestalled. There always seems to be such a lot to pay." "How uneasy it must make you!" "Not a bit of it," spoke the major, cheerily. "With Eagles' Nest in prospective, it does not matter at all, Talking of Eagles' Nest, Edina, have you heard anything of your aunt Ann lately?" "We never do hear from her, Uncle Francis. Papa writes to her sometimes, and I write, but we never receive any answer." "I fear she is on her last legs."