ge houses, the door was gently opened, and a little servant-girl,
very tidy, modest, and demure, but very pretty too, appeared. 'I
suppose you're Christopher, sir,' said the servant-girl.

Kit got off the box, and said yes, he was.

'I'm afraid you've rung a good many times perhaps,' she rejoined, 'but
we couldn't hear you, because we've been catching the pony.'

Kit rather wondered what this meant, but as he couldn't stop there,
asking questions, he shouldered the box again and followed the girl
into the hall, where through a back-door he descried Mr Garland leading
Whisker in triumph up the garden, after that self-willed pony had (as
he afterwards learned) dodged the family round a small paddock in the
rear, for one hour and three quarters.

The old gentleman received him very kindly and so did the old lady,
whose previous good opinion of him was greatly enhanced by his wiping
his boots on the mat until the soles of his feet burnt again. He was
then taken into the parlour to be inspected in his new clothes; and
when he had been surveyed several times, and had afforded by his
appearance unlimited satisfaction, he was taken into the stable (where
the pony received him with uncommon complaisance); and thence into the
little chamber he had already observed, which was very clean and
comfortable: and thence into the garden, in which the old gentleman
told him he would be taught to employ himself, and where he told him,
besides, what great things he meant to do to make him comfortable, and
happy, if he found he deserved it. All these kindnesses, Kit
acknowledged with various expressions of gratitude, and so many touches
of the new hat, that the brim suffered considerably. When the old
gentleman had said all he had to say in the way of promise and advice,
and Kit had said all he had to say in the way of assurance and
thankfulness, he was handed over again to the old lady, who, summoning
the little servant-girl (whose name was Barbara) instructed her to take
him down stairs and give him something to eat and drink, after his walk.

Down stairs, therefore, Kit went; and at the bottom of the stairs there
was such a kitchen as was never before seen or heard of out of a
toy-shop window, with everything in it as bright and glowing, and as
precisely ordered too, as Barbara herself. And in this kitchen, Kit
sat himself down at a table as white as a tablecloth, to eat cold meat,
and drink small ale, and use his knife and fork