"Any other luggage, sir?" asked the old porter, lifting out Miles' suit-case. "Yes, a box of rods in the van." The old porter went to the end of the train near where Jan had been to the guard three minutes before. He opened the van door and nearly tumbled backward in astonishment, for right in the doorway, blinking at the light, stood "Miss Rass' young gen'leman." "Well, I am blessed!" exclaimed the porter, and lifted him out. Tony was dreadfully dirty. The heat, the dust, the tears he had shed when he woke up with the putting in of luggage at the junction and couldn't understand what had happened to him, all combined to make him about the most miserable-looking and disreputable small boy you could imagine. He had left his hat behind the milk-cans. Jan had gone out of the station. She had passed Miles blindly, and her face caused that young man to whistle softly, just once. Then he dashed after her. "Your haunt bin askin' for you," the old porter said to Tony. "'Peared to me she was a bit worried-like." Tony moved stiffly down the little station, the old porter following with Miles' luggage on a truck. The ticket-collector stood in the doorway. Tony, of course, had none. "Don't you say nothin'," whispered the old porter. "'Is haunt'll make it good; there's some sort of a misteree." Tony felt queer and giddy. Jan, already in her little pony-trap, had started to drive away. Miles, waiting for his baggage beside his uncle's car, saw the dejected little figure appear in the station entrance. He let fly a real barrack-square bellow after Jan, and she pulled up. She looked back and saw the reason for Captain Middleton's amazing roar. She swung the indignant Placid round, and in two minutes she was out of the pony-trap and had Tony in her strong arms. Miles tipped the porter and drove off. He, too, realised that there was some sort of a "misteree," something painful and unpleasant for Miss Ross, and that she would probably prefer that no questions were asked. Whatever mischief could that young Tony have been after? And dared Miles call at Wren's End that evening, in the hope of a glimpse of Meg, or would it look inquisitive and ill-bred? Placid turned a mild, inquiring head to discover the reason for this new delay. When Jan, after paying Tony's fare back from the junction, had driven away, the old porter, the ticket-collector, and the station-master sat in conclave on the situation. And their unanimous conclusion was summed up by the old porter: "Byes be a mishtiful set of young varmints, an' it warn't no job for a lone 'ooman to 'ave to bring 'em up." The lone woman in question held her reins in one hand and her other arm very tightly round the dirty little boy on the seat beside her. As they drove through the village neither of them spoke, but when they reached the Wren's End Road, Tony burst into tears. "I _am_ so hungry," he wailed, "and I feel so nasty in my inside." * * * * *