The Slowcoach

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE "No cake!" groaned Vernon. "Repulsive children!" he continued tragically. "Why did you knock at this unhappy door and ask your foolish question here? Are there no other houses in Cirencester? No cake! No cake!" They screamed with laughter. "I like them," said Rod. "They're nice children. I hope they'll come again. And now for a large tea, with plenty of cake for all but one of us." They would have liked to stay a long time, for Rod and Vernon were very kind and amusing, but Janet had Hester on her mind, left alone in the Slowcoach; and so directly tea was finished they said good-bye. When Hester was told about their adventure, she said: "How silly you all are!" "Why?" they asked indignantly. "For two reasons," said Hester. "One is that it is, of course, 'fresh woods.' Anyone ought to know that. And the other is that we've got the 'Blue Poetry Book' with it in here in the caravan." "That doesn't matter," said Gregory. "We met a jolly decent clergyman." What Hester's great business had been Janet soon learned, for as soon as they were alone Hester slipped some sheets of paper into Janet's hand and asked her to read them very privately. Janet retired to the boudoir end of the caravan and read. It was a poem entitled: ODE TO THE REV. FRANCIS GASTREEE (Dedicated to Mr. Nicholas Imber) O thou most base, Who hadst possession of the dwelling-place Of William Shakespeare, Stratford's loveliest son, What is it thou hast done? Thou shouldst have treasur'd it, as in a case We keep a diamond or other jewel. Instead of which thou didst it quite erase, O wicked man, O fool! What should be done to thee? Hang'ed upon a tree? Or in the pillory Placed for all to pelt with eggs and bitter zest? Aye, that were best. Would that thou wert i' th' pillory this moment And Stratford all in foment, Thou knave, thou cad, Thou everything that's bad! HESTER MARGARET AVORY. Janet said it was splendid, after you had got hold of the difficult rhyming idea. "That's because it's an ode," said Hester. "Odes go like that. All jumpy. And you mustn't say 'you' in an ode. You must say 'thou."' "But what shall you do with it?" Janet asked. "I want to send it to Mr. Imber," said Hester. "He said something ought to be done. He gave me his address; do you think we could post it this evening?" Janet said they could, and they walked to the post-office and sent it off, together with a letter to Mrs. Avory, and picture postcards for Runcie and Collins. The budget for X. they kept, as they had not brought his address with them. CHAPTER 21 COLLINS'S PEOPLE They resumed their journey the next morning, a little depressed in spirits, for the end was so near. It was now Monday, and they had to be home again—that is to say, in their home without wheels—to-morrow night, and the thought was not exhilarating. Moreover, as Robert's compass only too plainly showed, they were now for the first time since they started moving due east, or towards Chiswick, instead of away from it, as theretofore. Holidays of a fortnight always go faster in the second week than the first; but the last two days absolutely fly. They were now bound for Faringdon through Fairford; and the night—the last night—was to be spent, if possible, on the farm of Collins's brother, near Lechlade. At Fairford they had their lunch and explored the church, which is one of the most remarkable in England. It was built, they learned from Robert's "Road Book," by a rich merchant in the reign of Henry VII. named John Tame. Being something of a privateer too, he had the good fortune to capture a vessel on its way from Belgium to Italy laden with stained glass, and, having secured this booty, he erected the church in order to make use of it. Horace admired this story immensely, and set John Tame with his other heroes—Raffles and Robin Hood—forthwith. Then came the hunt for Lycett's Farm, where Collins's people now lived, of which they knew no more than that Lechlade was the postal address. It might be this side of Lechlade, and it might be far on the other. Collins had had the map placed before her, but could make nothing of it. (Cooks never can read maps.) After about two miles out of Fairford Robert began to ask. There were no people on the road—indeed, one of the things that they had noticed throughout their travels was how few persons were to be met; and they had therefore to knock at a door here and there, or approach labourers in the fields. Their ignorance of the name either of Lycett's or of Collins was amazing. "Never heard tell of such a place," said one. "Not hereabouts," said another. "Collins?" said a third. "There's a stone-mason of that name over at Highworth; but I don't know of no farmer." "Maybe you're thinking of Sadler's," another suggested. Robert, who was getting testy, asked why. "Sadler's doesn't sound a bit either like Collins or Lycett's," he said. "No," the man agreed, "it doesn't." But at last a butcher's boy on a bicycle came along, and Janet stopped him. "Lycett's?" he said. Then he brightened. "Lickets, perhaps you mean. That's up the next turning to the left. I don't know who's got it, because I'm a stranger here, but I've heard that Lickets lies that way." So Robert was recalled from a distant meadow where he had seen a man working, and they hurried on. The turning was not a main road, but a long lane, which was so narrow that nothing else could possibly have passed by had they met anything; and for a while nothing did come. And then suddenly at a bend there was a fat farmer driving a dogcart straight at them. He pulled up at once, and roared out: "Where be you coming to, then? We don't want no gipsies here." Kink stopped too, and the farmer and he glared at each other. "You must back down to the next gate," said the farmer. "Back yourself," said Kink. "Your load's lighter than mine." "But it's my land you're on," said the farmer. "It's a public road," said Kink. It looked as though they might stay there for ever, but suddenly the farmer began to laugh. "Why, you're not gipsies," he said. "I believe you're Avories." "That's so," said Kink. "Well, I'm blessed!" the farmer cried. "And to think we should be falling out when I've been waiting to see you these many days! My name's Pescod. My halfsister's your cook." Mr. Pescod climbed out of his cart and shook hands with all the children. "Now I'll turn," he said, with a smile to Kink, and he led his horse up the lane, talking all the while, while the Slowcoach followed. They told him about their difficulty in finding any trace of him, and he called Collins a donkey for not directing them better, and forgetting to say that her name and his were different. "Never mind," he said; "here you are at last. We've been looking out for you for a long time. My missis never hears wheels nowadays but what she runs to the door to see if it's you." Lycett's farm was a long, low, white house with a yew hedge leading from the garden gate to the front door. This hedge, of which Collins had told them, was famous in the neighbourhood; for it was enormously old, and as thick almost as masonry, and it was kept so carefully clipped that it was as smooth also as a wall. At the gate itself the yews were cut into tall pillars with a pheasant at the top of each, and then there were smaller pillars at intervals all the way up the path, about twenty yards, with a thick joining band of yew between them. They were so massive that very little light could get into the front windows or the doorway; but, as Mr. Pescod said, "anyone can have light, few yew hedges like that in the world." Mrs. Pescod was a comfortable, smiling woman whose one idea was that everyone must either be hungry or in need of feeding up. All of the children in turn she looked at anxiously, saying that she was sure that they had not had enough to eat. As a matter of fact, they had not perhaps eaten as much as they would have done at Chiswick, and they had, of course, worked harder; but they were all very well, and said so. But it made no difference to Mrs. Pescod. "Ah, my dear," she said to Janet, "you're pale. I shouldn't like you to go back to your ma looking like that. No, while you're here you must have three good meals. A good tea, and a good supper, and a good breakfast. I wish you'd stay longer, and let me have a real go at you; but if you can't, you can't, and there's an end of it." Mrs. Pescod's notion of a good tea was terrific. Eggs for everyone to begin with (to Gregory's great pleasure, for an egg with his tea was almost his favourite treat). Freshly baked hot cakes soaking in butter. Hot toast. Three kinds of jam. Bread and butter. Watercress. Mustard and cress. This was at five o'clock, and as supper was at half-past eight, Janet urged the others to explore as much as possible, or they would have no appetite, and then Mrs. Pescod would be miserable. It was a delightful farm. There was everything that one wants in a farm,—a pond with ducks; a haystack half cut, so that one might jump about on it; straw ricks on stone posts; cowsheds smelling so warm and friendly, with swallows darting in and out of the doorway to their nests in the roof; stables with gentle horses who ate the green stuff you gave them without biting you; guinea-pigs, the property of Master Walter Pescod, who was a weekly boarder at Cirencester; fantail pigeons; bantams; ferrets, very frightening to everyone but Kink, who knew just how to hold them; and a turnip-slicer, which Gregory turned for some time, munching turnip all the while. Mrs. Pescod led the girls round with her on an egg-hunt, which is always one of the most interesting expeditions in life; and Mr. Pescod, as the evening drew on, allowed the boys to accompany him with his gun to get a rabbit or two under the hedge, and he permitted Jack to fire it off. Nothing happened except that Jack was nearly knocked backwards by the "kick"; but he was very proud of the bruise, and when he returned to Chiswick showed it to his father and to William in triumph. It was getting purple then, with green edges, and Dr. Rotheram pronounced it one of the best bruises he had ever seen. "Good enough," he said, "to have killed a lion with." "Yes," said William, "instead of missing a rabbit." Mrs. Pescod, of course, wanted the children to sleep indoors, but they would not. "It is our very last night in the caravan," said Janet, "and we couldn't give it up." So Mrs. Pescod instead made them promise to come to breakfast, and gave them each a large cake of her own making in case they felt hungry in the night. CHAPTER 22 THE ADVENTURE OF THE GIANT After receiving a thousand messages for Collins, both affectionate and jocular—one from Mr. Pescod being on no account to forget to tell her to try anti-fat—they said good-bye to these kind folk and marched into Faringdon the next morning, very sorry it was the last, but determined to make a brave show. Through watery Lechdale they went, over the Isis (as the Thames is called here), and past Buscot. It was just after leaving Buscot that Gregory, who had been ahead alone, suddenly rushed back in a wild state of excitement. "What do you think I've seen?" he panted. "A giant! A real live giant!" "Don't be an ass!" said Jack "But I have," he protested—"I have. He's there in that wood, kneeling by the stream, washing his face. I watched him walk to it. He's enormous! He's as tall as this caravan nearly. Do come and peep at him." They all very readily accompanied Gregory into the wood, and there, sure enough, was a giant, combing his hair. He heard them coming, and looked round. They stopped, open-eyed and openmouthed. "Here, I say," the giant said at last, "this won't do. You mustn't look at me like that—free. It's a penny each, you know." He had a broad Yorkshire accent and a kind face. "Where do you come from?" he asked. "We come from London," said Janet. "We are on a caravan journey." "A caravan journey," said the giant. "So am I. I always am, in fact." "Are you?" said Gregory. "How splendid!" "Splendid!" said the giant. "Do you think so? I'd give a good deal to sleep in a bed in a house. Excuse me if I sit down," he added. "My legs aren't very strong." He sat down, but even then he was taller than any of the children. "Where is your caravan?" Janet asked. "Just over there," the giant said. "They're waiting for me. I came here to make my toilet. Where are you going?" "We're going to Faringdon," said Robert. "That's where we've come from," said the giant. "There's been a fair there. We're going to Cirencester." "What a shame!" said Horace. "That means we've missed you." "But you're seeing me now," said the giant, adding again, with his Yorkshire laugh, "free." "I know," said Jack, "but that's not the same as at a fair. The naphtha lamps, you know." The giant shuddered. "I like to be away from them," he said. "Who else is there with you?" asked Gregory. "The King," said the giant. "The King!" they all exclaimed. "Yes, King Pip. He's a dwarf. We travel together, but we show separately. A penny each." "Might we see him if we paid a penny?" Janet asked. "I shouldn't if I were you," said the giant. "Why not?" said Gregory. "Isn't he nice?" "No," said the giant very firmly. "He's not; he's nasty." "I'm so sorry," said Janet. "So am I," said the giant. "I've always liked giants best," said Mary. "But why don't you leave him?" said Jack. "I can't," said the giant. "We don't belong to ourselves. We belong to Mr. Kite. Mr. Kite is the showman." "And did you sell yourself to him like a slave?" Hester asked. The giant laughed. "Very much like a slave," he said. "You see, there's nothing else to do when you're big like me and have no money. I'm too weak to work, and it's ridiculous, too. No one ought to be so big. So I must do what I can." "What's the matter with King Pip?" Robert asked. "He's selfish and bad-tempered," said the giant. "He thinks it's a fine thing to be so small." "And you think it a fine thing to be so big, don't you?" said Robert. The giant opened his blue eyes. "I! Not me. I'd give everything I ever possessed to be five feet seven instead of seven feet five. It's never done me any good." "But it's rather grand to be as big as that," Robert suggested. "Grand! You may have the grandeur. It's worse than being a criminal. I can't walk out unless it's pitch dark or very early morning, because if I did the people would see me free—as you are doing—I have to live in a narrow stuffy carriage. I'm ill, too. Giants are always ill." Janet was full of sympathy. "We're so sorry," she said. "And here's our money—it isn't fair to be seeing you free." And she held out sixpence. "Oh, no," said the giant. "I didn't mean that. I like to see you and talk. There's too few people to talk to naturally. Most of them ask silly questions all the time, especially the doctors. If you want to pay to see me, you must come to the fair. I shall be on view to-night." "But we're going the other way," said Robert. "I'm very sorry," said the giant. "I should have looked forward to seeing you." "What's your name?" Gregory asked. "My real name is William Steward," said the giant, "but they call me the Human Colossus." "Is there anything we could do for you?" Janet asked. "We have some papers; would you like them?" "No," said the giant; "I don't read much. There is one thing I'd like, but I don't suppose you have it. A little tobacco. I'm clean out of it, and I'd like a smoke." "We've got tobacco all right," said Robert. "You know," he added to Janet, "in that tin labelled 'For—'" But Janet stopped him in time, and drew him aside. "Run and get it," she said; "but be sure to scrape the label off. He wouldn't like to see 'For Tramps and Gipsies' on it." Robert was quickly back, and handed the tin to the giant, who was delighted. He was just beginning his thanks when a shrill whistle sounded, and he said good-bye instead. "That's His Majesty," he explained. "He thinks I've been long enough. And I am long enough," he added, making his only joke—"too long. Well, good-bye. I'm glad to have met you. Don't forget to look for the Human Colossus whenever you come to a fair. It's easy to remember the Human Colossus. Good-bye." And he shambled off through the trees to the road. They had their last lunch with Kink just outside Faringdon's red town, and then sped him on his solitary way home, promising, however, to come and meet him somewhere outside London in three or four days' time; and so they stood in a group in the middle of the road until the Slowcoach and its driver and its black guardian were out of sight. And if some of their eyes were not quite dry, I am sure you don't blame them. "Now," said Robert, as he made a note of what his pedometer said—sixty-seven miles and a quarter, for he considered this the end of the real walk—"now for the station." First, however, a telegram had to go, and Hester insisted on sending it, as she had an idea, and this is what she sent: "Avory, The Gables, Chiswick. Alas! alack! we're coming back." They caught a train on the funny little branch-line which turned them out at Uffington, and, armed with Mr. Scott's present, "The Scouring of the White Horse," which Mary carried and occasionally read scraps from as they walked along, they made for the green hills and the famous animal cut on their side. To reach it was impossible, for the London train left at 6.24, and it was now nearly three, and there was tea to be eaten; but they came near enough to see it distinctly, and to marvel that the name of horse should ever have been given to it. As Gregory said, "It's no more like a horse than Shakespeare is like a swan." And then they had tea at a nice inn at Uffington, in a parlour full of photograph frames, and returned to the station. As the train left, they leaned back in their seats, a great deal more tired than they had ever been in the Slowcoach. "What a hateful rate this train goes at!" said Robert. "I prefer two miles an hour." "Oh, yes," they said. At Paddington they found Collins and Eliza Pollard, with a station omnibus, and they rattled down to Chiswick, pouring out the news, especially that from Lycett's farm. And so, after dropping Mary and Jack and Horace at their homes, they came once again to "The Gables." A cold supper was waiting for them—one of those nice late meals after a journey—and Mrs. Avory and Runcie sat with them while they ate it. "You must be glad to be back," Runcie said, "and to sleep in nice beds once more." "Oh, Runcie," said Hester, "you don't really understand anything." "I understand what King Edward's head is like on a shilling," said Runcie, with a little twinkle at Janet. Janet blushed. "What a shame," she said, "to tell that story! Hester, I suppose that was you, in one of your letters." "Yes," said Hester; "but, Janet darling, you told me always to tell all the news." CHAPTER 23 THE MOST SURPRISING ADVENTURE OF ALL The children had been back two or three days, and Kink was still on the road, when one morning a telegram came from him saying that he had reached Hounslow, and Robert asked if they might all walk out to meet him, and so return home triumphantly in a body. Mrs. Avory agreed, and they trooped off, after the briefest lunch, taking Horace Campbell and the Rotherams with them. They had been gone two or three hours, and Mrs. Avory was sitting talking with Runcie, when Eliza Pollard brought a card on the brass tray that Janet had repoussed for her mother's last Christmas present. It ran: MR. HENRY AMORY The Red House, Chiswick, W. "I don't know him," said Mrs. Avory. "What is he like?" "Well, mum," said Eliza Pollard, "he's a short gentleman with a red face and two boys, and he seems very angry." "Ask him what he wants to see me about," said Mrs. Avory. "I did," said Eliza Pollard, "and he said he could not tell me, but the matter was of the highest importance." Mrs. Avory took the card and descended to the drawing-room, where the visitors were waiting for her. Mr. Amory bowed. "Pardon me, madam," he said, "but I have come to know what you have done with my caravan." "Your caravan!" "Yes, madam, my caravan. A caravan was sent as a present to my sons some three weeks or a month ago, and your family, I am creditably informed, seized and detained it." "Excuse me," said Mrs. Avory, "but we did nothing of the sort. A caravan was sent here for my children as a present, and we have simply made use of it. They have been away in it for a fortnight. It returns to-day!" "Ha!" said Mr. Amory. "Perhaps you will have the goodness to inform me who gave it to you?" "That," said Mrs. Avory, "I can't do—" "Ha!" said Mr. Amory. "—because," Mrs. Avory continued, "I don't know. We have never discovered. The giver wished to be anonymous." Mr. Amory looked surprised, and became a shade less fierce. "You took no steps to find out?" he asked. "How could I? There was no clue to go upon." "I see, I see," said Mr. Amory. "There has been a huge mistake. Perhaps you will allow me to read you a letter which we received a day or so ago: "'DEAR CHILDREN, "'I have just come back, much sooner than I expected; but, finding no letter from you, I have made some inquiries as to what you have done with the caravan, and, to my amazement, cannot discover that it has ever reached you at all; and since, if it has not, this letter must be all Greek to you, I may now say that on the 23rd of June a caravan fully furnished for a journey should have arrived at your house with a letter saying it was from your friend X., as it amused me to call myself. I have been to the man whom I employed to take it to you, but he is in hospital. His wife, however, is convinced that he did take it to Chiswick all right. Please ask your father to try to discover to what house it was sent. Tomorrow evening I shall come to see you all. "'Your affectionate UNCLE EUSTACE. "There," said Mr. Amory, "you see. Not, however, that I should have let my sons go away in it—at any rate, without me"—the two little boys winced—"but different people have different ideas. Well," he continued, "I have been investigating, and of course I soon discovered that the caravan had come here, and that your children had gone off in it. I will admit that we have only just come to Chiswick, and that you were better known here; but the fact remains that the letter was addressed, not to the name of Avory, but Amory." Mrs. Avory was bewildered. "It is all very unexpected," she said. "I really cannot remember reading the address on the envelope at all. It was handed to me as mine, and I opened it. It may have been Amory. If you care to see the letter, I have it." "Please," said Mr. Amory; and Mrs. Avory went to her desk. "Now, boys, listen to me," said Mr. Amory to his two sons. "Let this be a lesson to you. Never give anonymous presents. It is foolish, and it leads to trouble; and very likely the wrong person will be thanked." Mrs. Avory handed him the letter, and he read it. "Quite clear," he said, "but not what I call a sensible way of doing things. Your explanation satisfies me." Mrs. Avory expressed her regret that the mistake had occurred. "But," she added, "you must allow that we had no other course than to accept the present as though it really belonged to us. We have for so many years been the only Avories here." "But have you so many friends," Mr. Amory inquired, "who would be likely to give you anonymously so handsome a gift? It did not strike you as strange?" "Certainly not," said Mrs. Avory. Mr. Amory again said "Ha!" "The caravan," Mrs. Avory resumed, rising to her feet, "shall be put in order directly it returns, and sent to your address. Anything that has been taken from it or broken shall be replaced. I can say no more than that. Good afternoon." It was not, however, the end of the visit, for at that instant the sound of heavy wheels was heard, and cheers in the street, and, looking out of the window, Mrs. Avory saw that the Slowcoach had already arrived, escorted (as it had left) by all the children of Chiswick, and a moment later Janet burst into the room, crying, "Mother, do come and see!" She pulled up stiff on observing the strangers. "Janet, dear," said Mrs. Avory, "there has been a serious mistake. The Slowcoach is not ours at all. It belongs to this gentleman's children." Janet gasped. "But it was sent to us," she said at last. "No," said Mr. Amory; "I beg your pardon, young lady, but it was sent to us. It came to you in error." Janet looked questioningly at her mother, and Mrs. Avory nodded yes. Hester and Gregory now entered the room to insist on their mother either coming out or giving leave for some of the street children to be allowed to go inside the caravan. But Mr. Amory interposed. "No," he said. "I prefer not. They are rarely clean." Gregory looked at him in dismay. "Mother!" he exclaimed. "Janet," whispered Mrs. Avory, who knew her youngest son, "take Gregory away, and keep him out of sight till they go." "But we," Mr. Amory resumed, "will examine the caravan. I suppose there was no inventory." "No," said Mrs. Avory. "Very unfortunate," he muttered, "and very unsystematic. However, we must hope for the best;" and so saying he led the way toward the yard, with his meek little sons, who had said not a word, but appeared to wish themselves well out of the affair, behind him. Kink had already unharnessed Moses, and the Slowcoach stood at rest. Mr. Amory first went to examine a place on the wheel where a gate-post had removed some of the paint, and he then put a foot on the step; but Diogenes sprang up and growled so seriously that he withdrew. "Please remove the dog," he said. While this was being done, and the father and his two sons were inside, Janet explained the situation to the others. They refused at first to believe it. "Do you mean to say," Robert exclaimed, "that the Slowcoach isn't ours at all?" "Yes," said Janet. "It belongs to those measly pip-squeaks?" said Robert. "Yes," said Janet. Robert held his head in a kind of stupor. CHAPTER 24 THE END They had a very solemn tea. Everyone was depressed and mortified. "We couldn't help it, could we, mother?" Janet said several times. "Of course not," said Mrs. Avory. "It's no one's fault except the foolish man who brought the caravan here. What has Kink said about it?" But as no one had asked him, he was called to the cedar-tree, beneath which tea was laid on fine days. "Here's a go, mum," he said. "What did the man say who brought the caravan?" Mrs. Avory said. "As near as I can remember he showed me the letter, and said, 'Is that all right?' I looked at it, and read, 'To be given to Mrs. Avory' on it, so I said, 'Yes,' Then he said, 'I've got a caravan for your lot, cockie,' and backed it into the yard." "How splendid!" said Robert. "Then it was you who did it, Kinky?" "Did what, Master Robert?" "Got us the Slowcoach; because the address wasn't Mrs. Avory at all; it was Mrs. Amory." "Oh, I don't take much count about m's or v's," said Kink. "It began with a big 'A,' and it ended in 'ory,' and that was good enough for me." "Kink," said Janet, "you're a dear. You've given us the most beautiful holiday." Hester suddenly turned pale. "Mother!" she exclaimed, "what about the twenty-five sovereigns?" "Yes," said Robert, "that's awful!" "It is rather bad," said Mrs. Avory, "because, of course, it will have to be given back, and at once too, and I'm not at all rich just now. I'm not even sure that we have any right to go to Sea View, and the twenty-five pounds will just spoil everything." "Why should we give it back?" said Gregory. "Because it's not ours," said Mrs. Avory. "There's no question at all." "I think Kinky ought to pay it," said Gregory. "He's got heaps of money in the Post-Office, and it's his fault, too." "The best thing to do," said Mrs. Avory, "is to telephone to Uncle Christopher and tell him all about it, and ask him to come over to-night and give us his advice. He always knows best." "And Mr. Scott and Mr. Lenox, too," said Robert. "Very well," said Mrs. Avory. "They were all here at the beginning, and they had better be here at the end." Mr. Lenox, who came first, was immensely tickled. "Who stole the caravan?" he asked at intervals through the evening. Mr. Scott took it more practically. "We must have another," he said, "and have it built to our own design. Let the Slowcoach provide the ground-plan, so to speak, and then improve on it by the light of your experience. You must by this time each know of certain little defects in the Slowcoach that could easily be done away with." "Of course," said Robert. "Blisters." "Don't rot," said Gregory. "I know of something, Mr. Scott. The roof. It ought to have a felt covering, so as to soften the rain." "Exactly," said Mr. Scott. "And you, Janet?" "I used to wonder," said Janet, "if there could not be some poles, such as those that you raise carriage-wheels with when you wash them, to lift the caravan above its springs at night. As it is, every movement makes it shake or rock. They could be carried underneath quite easily." "Very good," said Mr. Scott. "And you, "I heard about a caravan yesterday," said Mary, "that had two little swings at the back for small children when they were tired." "That's a good idea," said Mr. Lenox. "For Gregory, for instance." "I'm not a small child," said Gregory, "and I don't get tired." "Oh," said Janet, "what about those times when you said you couldn't walk at all?" "Shut up," said Gregory. "Very well, then," said Mr. Scott; "if you really are still keen on caravaning, I'll give you a new one, with proper title-deeds, in case any new Mr. Amory turns up, and we will all superintend its building." "Hurrah!" cried the children. "And we'll call it Slowcoach the Second." It was at this point that Uncle Christopher came in. "This is very sad," he said. "To think of my nephews and nieces running off with another person's caravan!" "But what shall we do?" Mrs. Avory asked. "There's nothing to do," said Uncle Christopher, "but to have it cleaned up and put in order as soon as possible, and sent round to its real owner." "The dreadful thing," said Janet, "is the twenty-five pounds." "Yes, I know," said Uncle Christopher; "but I believe there's a way out of even that difficulty. I told your aunt all about it when I got back from the office, and she wished me to tell you that she would like to refund the twenty-five pounds herself." There was a long pause. "O dear," said Janet at last, as she hid her face in her mother's arms, "everybody is much too kind." *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLOWCOACH *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. 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