Oh the relief in such case when the top of the hill was reached, and the driver stirred up his horses to a canter, and the heavy ’bus covered the level ground quickly and rumbled down the next steep hill at a good pace.  How Kitty did hate it all now, and how she did love it ordinarily!  Winter and summer, hitherto, she had always gone to and fro mounted high up on the front seat, and knew every curve and corner, and hill and dip; but best of all, perhaps, did she love that quick run down the steep hill, when the horses cantered along at their smartest, and the ’bus came rumbling and swaying after them, as though at any moment it would break loose entirely and go its own wild way.  And then would come the demurer pace as they came to the town, and the narrow streets where sharp corners had to be turned carefully, and where, from the high ’bus-top, one could quite easily see into the funny little rooms of the old houses on either side.  Then came the main street—­to the Trenire children fit to vie in breadth and beauty with any street in any city in the world—­and then home!

To Kitty it had always been the greatest joy to come home.  No matter where she had stayed, or how delightful the visit had been, she had always been glad to get home again, and her heart beat faster, and her breath caught with something that was not merely excitement or pleasure, at the sight of the low, broad old house in the bare, wind-swept street, that was the only home she had known, or wanted to know.  But now, for the first time, she felt no joy, only misery and indignation, and a sense of hopeless, helpless resentment that all the old joy and freedom was ended, that everything was to be altered and spoiled for them.

By degrees the ’bus emptied of all passengers but themselves, and Aunt Pike drew nearer to Kitty.  “I hope,” she said, “that things have gone on nicely while I have been away, and that the house has been kept in a neat and orderly fashion.”

Kitty did not answer for a moment, for the simple reason that she had no answer to give.  They had all been too much occupied in making the most of their spell of freedom to observe how the house was kept.  “I—­I believe so,” she stammered at last.

“And I hope you have arranged a nice little meal for us,” went on Mrs. Pike, “to welcome Anna on her first arrival in her new home.  I did not say anything about it, as I thought it would be so good for you to have the arranging of it.”

At this Kitty really did jump in her seat, and her heart beat fast with shame and dismay, for she had not only not arranged a “nice little meal,” but had never given a thought to any meal at all.

It is fair to say she had never been told that it was left to her to do so.  When first her aunt had come Kitty had handed over to her the reins of government, willy-nilly, and she had not thought it her duty to take them up again in Mrs. Pike’s absence; but it is to be feared that in any case she would not have prepared a feast of welcome for Anna.  And the result was that they would arrive tired and hungry after their long, hot journey, and probably find no preparations at all made for them, no welcome, not even food enough for a meal—­certainly no special feast.