rm, who went about crying their wares. And then the
wild scurrying of the passengers--like hens before a motor, Jock
said--when the flag was waved and the train about to start. Mhor hoped
fervently, and a little unkindly, that at least one might be left
behind, but they all got in, though with some it was the last second of
the eleventh hour. There seemed to be hundreds of porters wheeling
luggage on trolleys, guards walked about looking splendid fellows, and
Mhor's eyes as he beheld them were the eyes of a lover on his mistress.
He could hardly be torn away when David came to say that Stark was
waiting with the car and that they could not hope to get farther than
Penrith that night.

The dusk was falling and the vesper-bell ringing as they drove into the
town and stopped before a very comfortable-looking inn.

It was past Mhor's bedtime, and it seemed to that youth a fit ending for
the most exciting day of his whole seven years of life, to sit up and
partake of mutton chops and apple-tart at an hour when he should have
been sound asleep.

He saw Peter safely away in charge of a sympathetic "boots" before he
and Jock ascended to a bedroom with three small windows in the most
unexpected places, a bright, cheery paper, and two small white beds.

Next morning the sun peeped in at all the odd-shaped windows on the two
boys sprawled over their beds in the attitudes in which they said they
best enjoyed slumber.

It was another crystal-clear morning, with mist in the hollows and the
hilltops sharp against the sky. When Stark, taciturn as ever, came to
the door at nine o'clock, he found his party impatiently awaiting him on
the doorstep, eager for another day of new roads and fresh scenes.

Jean asked him laughingly if Wilfred the Gazelle would live up to its
name this run, but Stark received the pleasantry coldly, having no use
for archness in any form.

It was wonderful to rush through the morning air still sharp from a
touch of frost in the night, ascending higher and higher into the hills.
Mhor sang to himself in sheer joy of heart, and though no one knew what
were the words he sang, and Jock thought poorly of the tune, Peter
snuggled up to him and seemed to understand and like it.

The day grew hot and dusty as they ran down from the Lake district, and
they were glad to have their lunch beside a noisy little burn in a green
meadow, from the well-stocked luncheon-basket provided by the Penrith
inn. Then they dipped