The little girl sat up and then stood up. "I feel all right," she said, "only very giddy."

Kink uttered a sigh of relief. "Drink this cold water," he said. "That will make you much better. And now tell us all about the accident, because we shall have to let your people know."

"Well," said the little girl, "mother and I were driving to Ashton to see Aunt May; and mother had just got out to leave the _British Workman_ at old Mr. Dimmock's, when the ponies took fright and ran away. I held the reins as long as I could, and when I saw your caravan in front I screamed to warn you, and then there was a terrible crash, and I don't remember anything else."

"And what will your poor mamma be doing?" said Kink.

"Oh, poor mother!" said the little girl. "She'll be so nervous! But she'll be coming after us as fast as she can, because she saw them start off."

"Then I think," said Kink, "the best thing to do is for us to leave this man here to mind the ponies and tell your mamma you're all right; and we'll go on to Ashton as quick as we can, and send back some help.

We'll take you to your aunt's, missie, and the man will tell your mamma when she comes up what we've done. I'm so glad you're not hurt."

So Hester and Gregory were left with the little girl, who told them her name was Patricia Mordan, and she was ten, and they lived near Fladbury, and she had a King Charles spaniel; while Kink urged Moses towards Ashton, which was only a mile or so away.

Hester put the kettle on the Beatrice stove, thinking that tea was the best thing, and Gregory sat down and looked at their guest, and thought what a splendid adventure it was to tell the others about when they met them later.

Patricia, who was now in a deck-chair, examined the caravan in a kind of ecstasy. "What a lovely place it is!" she said. "Do you really live here? How scrumptiously exciting!"

"My bed's over there," said Gregory.

"Where do you stop at night?" Patricia asked.

"I have to go to the farmers and get leave to camp on their land," said Gregory.

"And is it just you two and the driver?" Patricia asked.

"Oh, no," said Gregory; "there are five others, but they are walking over Bredon Hill. They said we could not walk so far, which is rot, of course; but I'm glad we didn't, because then we shouldn't have been here to save your life."

"Mother will be very grateful to you for being so kind," said Patricia.

"Poor mother! she'll be so frightened about me. And Tommy--how dreadful for him to lose Snelgrove!"

"Who's Tommy?" Gregory asked.

"Tommy's my brother," said Patricia. "He's twelve. Aunt May gave Snelgrove to him and Marshall to me last Christmas. They've never run away before. I wish we had a caravan."

"Caravans are very jolly," said Gregory. "Things are always happening, too."

"I'd rather have a sweet grey pony than a caravan," said Hester, bringing a cup of tea.

CHAPTER 16

THE BLACK SPANIELS

Gregory, who was looking out of the door and meditating an escape from so much dampness, and a conversation on the whole matter with Kink, exclaimed suddenly, "h.e.l.lo, I guess this is your mother."

"Yes, it is," cried Patricia, standing up and waving her handkerchief to a lady seated in a milk-cart, which was being driven after them at a tremendous pace. "I wondered who she'd get to bring her here, and it's young Daniel Wilson. Tell your man to stop, please."

Mrs. Mordan, whom Gregory thought both a nice and a pretty lady, leapt out of the milk-cart and ran up the steps of the Slowcoach, and mother and daughter hugged each other for quite two minutes, while Gregory looked at young Daniel Wilson, and Patricia began to cry afresh--this time because she was happy.

Mrs. Mordan was happy too. The grief she had felt for the accident and the injury to poor Snelgrove, whom she had left in agony by the road, pa.s.sed away when she found her little daughter unhurt.

She sat holding Patricia's hand, and asked Hester a number of questions, and gave her a number of thanks all together.

Gregory meanwhile had got out, and was asking young Daniel Wilson how ponies are shot; and what he did about getting milk to the station when the snow was two feet thick; and if the cows often kicked the buckets over.

"It's not us," said Hester, "it's Kink who was so useful."

"Who is Kink?" Mrs. Mordan asked.

"Our gardener," said Hester, "but he drives the caravan for us;" and gradually she told the whole Slowcoach story.

By this time they were at Ashton, and, after giving instructions about looking after the ponies,--sending for a veterinary surgeon and so forth,--Mrs. Mordan showed Kink the way to Aunt May's house, which they reached just before two.

Aunt May was standing by the gate? with five black spaniels about her, looking anxiously down the road--a tall lady with grey hair and top-boots, and a little whip in her hand.

"No," she said, as Kink stopped at the gate, "I don't want any chairs or kettles mended, or, indeed, anything from you at all."

Kink, however, said nothing, but went to the back of the caravan and helped Mrs. Mordan and Patricia down.

"My precious Lina!" exclaimed Aunt May, when she saw them. "Whatever has happened?"

"I'll tell you about it indoors," said Mrs. Mordan. "These kind people are going to stop here for lunch, if you've got enough."

"Of course there's enough," said Aunt May; "but I thought you were gipsies, or tinkers, or something objectionable. You're not a tinker, are you?" she said to Gregory.

"No," he said, "but I'd like to be a gypsy."

And so they reached the house, which was an old-fashioned one, all among dark trees, with a very soft lawn in front of it.

Aunt May told Kink to go round to the back and be sure not to let Diogenes and the dogs fight, and then she began to call at the top of her voice for Simpkins.

After a while Simpkins appeared--an elderly bald man in a dress suit, who was evidently the butler.

"Simpkins," said Aunt May, "there will be two more to lunch, and there's a caravan at the back belonging to this gentleman here,"--indicating Gregory, who immediately grew three inches all over,--"and please give the driver a good dinner."

"Yes, my lady," said Simpkins; and Hester and Gregory at once began to look at her with round eyes, for they had never before met anyone who was t.i.tled--I mean to speak to, although they had seen the Lord Mayor (who is of course a baronet) in his carriage only last November 9.

"And, Simpkins," said Aunt May, "take Mr. What is your name?" she asked Gregory.

"Gregory Bruce Avory," said he.

"Take Mr. Bruce Avory to the Pink Room, and get him some hot water."

"Yes, my lady," said Simpkins, and Gregory grew another inch all over.

And then Aunt May led the others upstairs.