the
controversy the door opened, and young Bob Marrot stood before them with
his eyes wide open and his hair straight up on end, as if he had
recently seen a ghost. This aspect, however, was no sign of alarm,
being his normal condition.

"Ha! seems to me, somehow, that somebody's bin up to somethin'."

"Right Bob," replied his father, rising from his knees and throwing the
jack-towel at him.

The lad easily evaded the shot, being well accustomed to elude much more
deadly missiles, and, picking up the towel, quietly set to work to
perform the duty in dispute.

"You're wanted," he said, looking up at his father while he wrung the
towel over a tin basin.

"Eh! Where?"

"Up at the shed."

"I'm on sick leave," said John.

"Can't help that. The 6:30 p.m. passenger train must be drove, and
there's nobody left but you to drive it. Jones is away with a goods
train owin' to Maxwell having sprained his ankle, and Long Thompson is
down with small-pox, so you'll have to do it. I offered 'em my
services, but the manager he said that intelligent lads couldn't be
spared for such menial work, and told me to go and fetch you."

"Maxwell had no business to sprain his ankle," said John Marrot.
"Hows'ever," he added cheerfully, "I've had a rare good holiday, an' the
leg's all but right again, so, Molly, let's have an early tea; I'll give
it a good rest for another half-hour and then be ready for the 6:30
p.m-ers. Cut off your steam, will you?"

This last observation was made to the baby, and was accompanied by a
shake and a toss towards the ceiling which caused him to obey instantly,
under the impression, no doubt that the fun was to be renewed. Being,
however, consigned to the care of Gertie he again let on the steam and
kept it up during the whole time the family were at tea--which meal they
enjoyed thoroughly, quite regardless of the storm.

He was asleep when his father rose at last and buttoned his heavy coat
up to the chin, while Mrs Marrot stood on tiptoe to arrange more
carefully the woollen shawl round his neck.

"Now, don't stand more than you can help on your hurt leg, John."

"Certainly not, duckie," said John, stooping to kiss the upturned face;
"I'll sit on the rail as much as I can, like a 'Merican racoon. By the
way," he added, turning suddenly to Loo, "you delivered that note from
young Mr Tipps to his mother?"

"Yes, immediately after I got it from you; and I waited to see if there
was an answer