shed, Rupert and
Ducky were packed into it and the expedition set out on the five miles'
journey to The Paddock, Smethwick, where Mr. Runciman lived.

It was still quite early, and Mr. Runciman, having dealt with the
morning's letters, was sitting in his library looking through the daily
paper before going out to interview his steward and settling the other
business of the day, when the butler entered the room and announced:

"The seven Misses and Masters Plumstead to see you, sir."

"Goodness gracious, what next?" exclaimed Mr. Runciman in a tone of
positive alarm.

"Shall I show them in, if you please, sir?" asked the butler in a
sympathetic fashion, looking as if he really felt sorry for the
perturbed gentleman.

"All seven of them? Yes, I suppose you must, and see here, Roberts, just
ask the housekeeper to have some cakes and cocoa, or something of that
kind, ready for them to have before they go back to Beechleigh, for I
suppose that they are walking?"

"Yes, sir; that is to say, some of them are, but the lame young
gentleman and the little girl rode down in a bath chair," replied the
butler, and then permitted himself a grin of pure amusement as he
retired from the room to usher in the visitors, for the harassed master
of the house fairly groaned at the thought of having callers arrive in
such a fashion.

"The Misses and Masters Plumstead," announced the butler, throwing open
the door with the grand flourish which was worth at least ten pounds a
year to him in salary.

Nealie and Ducky entered first, followed by Rupert, walking alone, then
came Sylvia and Rumple, while Don and Billykins brought up the rear.

Mr. Runciman rose at once and came forward to greet them, trying very
hard to infuse as much cordiality as possible into his manner.

"My dear children, what an unexpected pleasure! Why, Cornelia, you are
positively blooming, and my little friend Hilda is as charming as
always. Ah, Rupert, my boy, how goes the Latin? Nothing like the dead
languages for training the mind. Sylvia, you grow so fast that there is
no keeping up with you. Dalrymple, you will have to use the dumb-bells
more or you will positively have Donald and William beat you in the
matter of height."

It was one of Mr. Runciman's vices in the eyes of the seven that he
would always give them the full benefit of their baptismal names,
although he knew, because they had told him so, that they simply hated
the formal mode of address, w