“Hi, you, boy,” cried General Grampound, “you, boy, with the red head—how dare you disgrace your livery, sir, racing sweeps in donkey-carts and blocking my road!” One might have fancied that the road, the stone walls, the earth and the sky were the property of General Grampound. As a matter of fact, he had less to do with the matter than Uncle Molyneux; but Uncle Molyneux was a placid, and easygoing person, who if the sky had fallen would not have been much put out, as long as the pieces did not hit him, and he was quite content to sit still, observe matters through his eye-glass, and let General Grampound do the shouting. “Why, it’s Uncle Molyneux!” cried Lord Gawdor, as Patsy engineered the “tub” through the gate, avoiding the donkey and cart, which were now on their respective legs and wheels. Uncle Molyneux nodded; but before he could speak, Miss Lestrange, who had got out of the waggonette, approached the “tub.” “How you have grown, Doris! and you too, Bob. Don’t you remember me? What a jolly little cart; have you room for me? I think I will drive the rest of the way with you. It’s not far from here, is it?” “Only a mile or two,” replied Doris. “Yes; do get in, there’s lots of room; isn’t there, Patsy?” “Hapes, miss,” replied Patsy, who was smouldering with anger at the General’s reference to the colour of his head. “But is it safe?” asked Mr Boxall, who had also descended from the waggonette. “Think, my dear Miss Lestrange, if there was another accident! Would it not be safer for _me_ to drive you if you are determined to go in this vehicle? The children could find accommodation in the waggonette.” “No, thanks,” said Miss Lestrange; “it is just the children I want to talk to.” “Come on, Boxall,” cried the General; “we can’t stick here all day. Let her do what she likes—always will have her own way. Drive on.” The waggonette and its contents drove on, and Miss Lestrange got into the “tub.” Just as they were starting a big closed carriage drove by following in the direction of the waggonette. It contained Lady Molyneux, her maid, her pug dogs, and her jewel-case. “We’ve been to the meet of the hounds,” explained Lord Gawdor. “That was Bob Mahony, the sweep, we were racing. He beat us, but he wouldn’t have beat us if he’d driven fair. I say, who was that gentleman with the big white face who wanted to drive you?” “That was Mr Boxall,” said Miss Lestrange. “He seemed awfully sweet on you,” said Lord Gawdor. “What’s the matter with his eyes?” “I don’t know,” replied Miss Lestrange, blushing, “He’s—a Member of Parliament.” “Oh, _I_ remember,” said Lord Gawdor. “I heard granny telling Mrs O’Farrell that poor Mr Boxall was coming on a visit, and that he’d got a glass eye. Miss Lestrange!” “Yes, Bob?” “Which of his eyes is glass?” “_I_ don’t know,” replied Miss Lestrange. “Let us talk of something else. Doris, how is your grandmother?”