The old booking-clerk caught sight of us when we were about a quarter of a mile away, and drew to us the attention of the coachman, who communicated the fact of our approach to the gathered passengers. Everybody left off talking, and waited for us. The boots seized his horn, and blew—one could hardly call it a blast; it would be difficult to say what he blew. He put his heart into it, but not sufficient wind. I think his intention was to welcome us, but it suggested rather a feeble curse. We learnt subsequently that he was a beginner on the instrument. In some mysterious way the whole affair appeared to be our party. The booking-clerk bustled up and helped Minnie from the cart. I feared, for a moment, he was going to kiss her. The coachman grinned when I said good-morning to him. The passengers grinned, the boots grinned. Two chamber-maids and a waiter came out from the hotel, and they grinned. I drew Minnie aside, and whispered to her. I said— “There’s something funny about us. All these people are grinning.” She walked round me, and I walked round her, but we could neither of us discover anything amusing about the other. The booking-clerk said— “It’s all right. I’ve got you young people two places just behind the box-seat. We’ll have to put five of you on that seat. You won’t mind sitting a bit close, will you?” The booking-clerk winked at the coachman, the coachman winked at the passengers, the passengers winked at one another—those of them who could wink—and everybody laughed. The two chamber-maids became hysterical, and had to cling to each other for support. With the exception of Minnie and myself, it seemed to be the merriest coach party ever assembled at Lyndhurst. We had taken our places, and I was still busy trying to fathom the joke, when a stout lady appeared on the scene, and demanded to know her place. The clerk explained to her that it was in the middle behind the driver. “We’ve had to put five of you on that seat,” added the clerk. The stout lady looked at the seat. “Five of us can’t squeeze into that,” she said. Five of her certainly could not. Four ordinary sized people with her would find it tight. “Very well then,” said the clerk, “you can have the end place on the back seat.” “Nothing of the sort,” said the stout lady. “I booked my seat on Monday, and you told me any of the front places were vacant. “_I’ll_ take the back place,” I said, “I don’t mind it. “You stop where you are, young ’un,” said the clerk, firmly, “and don’t be a fool. I’ll fix _her_.” I objected to his language, but his tone was kindness itself. “Oh, let _me_ have the back seat,” said Minnie, rising, “I’d so like it.” For answer the coachman put both his hands on her shoulders. He was a heavy man, and she sat down again. “Now then, mum,” said the clerk, addressing the stout lady, “are you going up there in the middle, or are you coming up here at the back?”