"Now don't talk nonsense, Joseph," cried his wife, rustling down into the room so wrapped up that she looked double her natural size, what with cloak, and boa, and a large muff. "Put it round your uncle's neck, Sage, the frost is very severe." The Churchwarden threw his head back ready for Sage to tie on the wrapper, uttering a low moan the while, and then sighed as he stood up and walked--at first slowly and then with alacrity--into the hall to put on his hat. "I can't get into my coat with this thing on," he roared. "Come and give us a lift." Sage ran laughingly into the hall to help the greatcoat on to his broad shoulders just as the four-wheeled chaise came crunching to the front door, Dapple giving a loud snort or two, and stamping upon the frozen gravel. Just then the Churchwarden gave a comical look at his niece, rushed to the corner by the eight-day clock, and made a great deal of rattling as he took up the whip and gave it a sharp lash through the air, and a crack on the broad balustrade. Sage heard her aunt start, and her uncle chuckled. "Now, old lady," he said. "That's right, Sage, plenty of rugs, or we shall have her frozen. That's it, old girl, right leg first. Hold his head still, Dicky. There you are; tuck that rug round you. There, that's better," he cried, taking his seat and fastening the apron. "Let him go, Dicky. Tck!" He started Dapple, and then stood up in the chaise with a quick motion, raising the whip as he set his teeth, and seemed about to strike the cob a tremendous blow, making Mrs Portlock jump and seize his arm, when he subsided, looking round at Sage with a comical expression in his eye, but pulled up short. "Here. Hi! I say. Yah! artful. Here you, Luke Ross, you're three hours before your time," he cried. "Yes, sir. I thought I might help a little, and--" "You thought you might help a little, and--G'on with you--get out. G'long!" and the Churchwarden flicked and lashed at Luke Ross, as he stepped to the side of the chaise and shook hands, while Sage, with her heart beating fast, drew back into the porch, seeing her uncle begin poking at the new arrival with the butt of the whip-handle. Then the cob was started again with another pretended furious cut, which made Sage's aunt catch at her uncle's arm; and then as, frightened, fluttering, and yet happy, she saw Luke coming towards her, the Churchwarden's voice came roaring through the wintry air-- "Here! I say, Luke Ross, remember what I said. I mean it--seriously." "Sage, my dear Sage!" Those were the next words Sage Portlock heard, as Luke took her hand to lead her, trembling and nervous, into the hall.