“Yes, there was a jolly old woman who made us a bed with her shawl, only I tumbled off three times and bumped myself, and she gave us gooseberries, and cake, and once when we stopped a long time a porter got us a cup of tea. Then when we came to where they take the tickets, I think the man was going to make a row, but the guard came up and told him all about it, and I gave him my two half-sovereigns, and he gave me back fourteen shillings change, for he said we were only half-price and second class. Then when once I was in London,” said Jock, as if his foot was on his native heath, “of course I knew what to be at.” “Have you had nothing to eat?” “We had each a bun when we got out at Charing Cross, but I’m awfully hungry, mother!” “I should think so. Janet, my dear, go and order some breakfast for them.” “And,” said Janet, “must not the others be dreadfully frightened about them at Kyve?” That question startled her mother into instant action. “Of course they must! Poor Clara! poor Allen! They must be in a dreadful state. I must telegraph to them at once.” She lifted Armine off gently to her bed, scarcely disturbing him, twisted up her hair in summary fashion, and the dress, which her friends had dreaded her seeing, was on, she hardly knew how, as she bade old nurse see to Jock’s washing, dressing, and making himself tidy, and then amazed the other ladies by running into the drawing-room crying breathlessly-- “I must telegraph to the Actons,” and plunging to the depths of a drawer in the davenport. “Caroline, your cap!” For it was on the back of the head that had never worn a cap before. And not only then, but for the most part whenever they met, those tears and caresses, that poor Mother Carey so much feared, were checked midway by the instinct that made Aunt Ellen run at her with a great pin and cry-- “Caroline, your cap.” She was still, after having had it fixed, kneeling down, searching for a form for telegraphing, when the door was opened, and in came Colonel Brownlow, looking very pale and fearfully shocked. “Ellen!” he began, “how shall I ever tell that poor child? Here is Mr. Acton.” But at that moment up sprang Mother Carey, and as Mr. Acton entered the room she leapt forward-- “Oh! I was just going to telegraph! They are safe! they are here! Jock, Jock!” And downstairs came tumbling and rushing that same little imp, while the astonishment of his uncle and aunt only allowed them to utter the one word, “John!” Mr. Acton drew a long breath, and said, “You have given us a pretty fright, boy.” “Here’s the paper,” added Carey; “telegraph to Clara at once. Ring the bell, Jock; I’ll send to the office.”