“Mare’s about told out, Softly,” said he, as we drove somewhat soberly through the very gate he had spoken of in the morning, opening it by the dangerous process of running the shaft against its bars, and fending it off from the wheel with his left hand. “Hard day for the Crafty: those field-roads are so blessed deep. Never mind; another half-mile will see us. I don’t think you know my sisters: remarkable young women, and accomplished, ’specially Jane. I am prepared now to back Jane against any other girl in England, weight for age of course, to do five things—work cross stitch, whistle jigs, do the outside edge backwards, speak German, and make a sparrow pudding. My money is ready at The Ashes, Waterborough, this identical house of call we’re coming to, that it’s too dark for you to see. Catch hold, while I jump out and ring the bell.” The flood of warm light that shone out upon us from the hall was indeed a pleasant contrast to the dark cold afternoon, which had already changed again for the worse. As I divested myself of my wraps, with the assistance of a staid elderly servant, young Plumtree welcomed me quite courteously to his father’s house, diverging, however, immediately afterwards, into the kind of jesting slang which was most familiar to him. “You’re wet,” he observed, laying his hand on my coat, through which the rain had indeed penetrated. “Perhaps you’d like to go and dress at once. Indeed, we dine in less than an hour. Shall I show you your room? Will you have anything before dinner?—glass of sherry?—biscuit?—crust of bread and a pickle? No? then step this way, if you please. Here’s your room; things laid out—hot water laid on. There’s the bell; _you_ ring for what you _want_, and the servants will bring you what they _have_!”