“I see,” broke in Paul, who had been spelling through the notices with which the carriage was adorned, “there’s a fine not exceedin’ saxty shillin’ ef you communicates wi’ the guard wi’out reason, an’ wuss ef you cuts the cush’ns or damages the compartment.  You’d bes’ call Mr. Fogo’s ’tention to that.”

“An’ warn ‘un not to get out while the train’s i’ motion; but you was al’ays thoughtful, Tamsin.  God bless thee, little maid!  Et makes my head swim o’ whiles to think ’pon the times I’ve a-danced ’ee ’pon my knee, an’ now you’m a married woman!”

“God bless you both, my dear brothers!”

“Amazin’,” said Paul; “I see the Cumpenny won’t hold itsel’ liable for—­”

There was a slamming of doors, a shriek of the whistle, and the train began to move away.  At the same moment Mr. Fogo darted out of the Booking Office, and came tearing up the platform.

“Where’s my wife?” he cried.  “Which carriage—?”

It was too late.  The carriage was already beyond the platform, and the train had gathered speed.  But presence of mind belongs not to experience only.  At the end of the train was hitched an empty clay-truck, bound on a return journey to Five Lanes Junction.  Quick as thought the Twins, as Mr. Fogo rushed up to them, caught him by the coat collar and seat of his trousers, and with one timely heave sent him flying into this.  When he staggered to his feet—­ hatless, without spectacles, and besmeared with clay from head to foot—­the train was fifty yards beyond the station.  And so, staring back mournfully at the little group upon the platform, he vanished from their sight.

“That,” said Peter, turning slowly to his brother, “was nibby-gibby.”

“Tamsin mou’t ha’ communicated wi’ the guard,” responded Paul, “on’y that, wi’out sufficient reason, wud ha’ been not exceedin’ saxty shillin’.  Do ’ee think ‘twud ha’ been held sufficient reason?”

“I dunno.  I reckon they mou’t ha’ made et two-pund-ten, all things conseddered,” said his brother thoughtfully, “but there’s no knawin’.”

It is always hateful to say good-bye to friends, and here, with his leave, the reader shall be left to guess on the later fortunes of Tamsin and Mr. Fogo, the Twins and Caleb.  It may be, if he care, and the Fates so order it, he shall some day follow them through new adventures; but it will be far from Troy Town.  And for the present they shall fare as his imagination pleases.

Of Tamsin, however, who is thus left with her good or sorry fortune before her, something shall be hinted.  Public opinion at Troy condemned her marriage.  As Miss Limpenny neatly asked, “If we were all to marry beneath us, pray where should we stop?” “We should go on,” replied the Admiral, “ad libitum.”  I am inclined to think he meant “ad infinitum;” but the argument is quite as cogent as it stands.

And yet, since they returned to Kit’s House, which they did after an absence of three years, Mr. and Mrs. Fogo have been called upon by the Cumeelfo.  Some months ago the Admiral button-holed me in the street.