e dog attempted to bolt as the crate door opened, but the young man
caught him by the leather collar and the groom snapped on a leash.

"Beg pardon, Sorr," began the groom, carried almost off his feet by the
frantic circling of the dog--"beg pardon, Sorr, but I'll be afther seem'
if anny of Mr. Ferrall's men drove over for you--"

"Oh! Are you not one of Mr. Ferrall's men?"

"Yis, Sorr, but I hadn't anny orders to meet anny wan--"

"Haven't you anything here to drive me in?"

"Yis, Sorr--I'll look to see--"

The raw groom, much embarrassed, and keeping his feet with difficulty
against the plunging dog, turned toward the gravel drive where now
only a steam motor and a depot-wagon remained. As they looked the motor
steamed out, honking hoarsely; the depot-wagon followed, leaving the
circle at the end of the station empty of vehicles.

"Didn't Mr. Ferrall expect me?" asked Siward.

"Aw, yis, Sorr; but the gintlemen for Shotover House does ginerally
allways coom by Black Fells, Sorr--"

"Oh, Lord!" said the young man, "I remember now. I should have gone on
to Black Fells Crossing; Mr. Ferrall wrote me!" Then, amused: "I suppose
you have only a baggage-wagon here?"

"No, Sorr--a phayton"--he hesitated.

"Well? Isn't a phaeton all right?"

"Yis, Sorr--if th' yoong lady says so--beg pardon, Sorr, Miss Landis is
driving."

"Oh--h! I see. ... Is Miss Landis a guest at Shotover House?"

"Yis, Sorr. An' if ye would joost ask her--the phayton do be coming now,
Sorr!"

The phaeton was coming; the horse, a showy animal, executed side-steps;
blue ribbons fluttered from the glittering head-stall; a young girl in
white was driving.

Siward advanced to the platform's edge as the phaeton drew up; the young
lady looked inquiringly at the groom, at the dog, and leisurely at him.

So he took off his hat, naming himself in that well-bred and agreeable
manner characteristic of men of his sort,--and even his smile appeared
to be part and parcel of a conventional ensemble so harmonious as to
remain inconspicuous.

"You should have gone on to Black Fells Crossing," observed Miss Landis,
coolly controlling the nervous horse. "Didn't you know it?"

He said he remembered now that such were the directions given him.

The girl glanced at him incuriously, and with more curiosity at the dog.
"Is that the Sagamore pup, Flynn?" she asked.

"It is, Miss."

"Can't you take him on the rumble with you?" And, to Siward: "There is
ro