‘And I?—­Mr. Falkirk,’ said Wych Hazel.

’Why that’s a matter of taste, my dear, of course.  Some people you know are partial to black eyes—­which yours are not.  Others again—­Ah, here is breakfast,—­Now my dear, eat as much as you can,—­you know we may not have any breakfast to-morrow.  On a search after fortune, you never can tell.’

And helping her to an extraordinary quantity of everything on the tray, Mr. Falkirk at once went off and left her to dispose of it all alone.  And of course he went straight into the next room.  Didn’t she know he would?—­and didn’t she hear the duo that greeted him?—­’What, Mr. Falkirk!’—­’Sir, your most obedient!’—­and her guardian’s double reply—­’Back again, eh?’—­ and ‘Your most obedient, Mr. Kingsland.’  Wych Hazel felt provoked enough not to eat another mouthful.  Then up came the stage, rumbling along to the front door; and as it came, in rushed Mr. Falkirk, poured out a cup of scalding coffee and swallowed it without a moment’s hesitation.

‘Coach, sir!’ said the waiter opening the door.

‘Coach, my dear?’ repeated her guardian, taking her arm and whisking her down the hall and into the stage, before the passengers in the long room could have laid down their knives.

‘What is the use of being in such a hurry, Mr. Falkirk?’ she said at last; much tried at being tossed gently into the stage like a brown parcel—­(which to be sure she was, but that made no difference).

‘My dear,’ said Mr. Falkirk, solemnly, “there is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.’ "

And with that he drew off his glove, leaned back, and passed his hand over his brow with the air of a man who had in some shape achieved success.

By this time the stream of passengers began to pour forth; and the coach creaked and swung to and fro, as trunk after trunk and man after man found their way up to the roof.  Then the door was flung open, and other passengers tumbled in, the lantern flashing dimly upon their faces and coats.  Three and three more,—­and another, but his progress was stayed.

‘Not in here, sir,’ said Mr. Falkirk politely, ’I have paid for three seats.’

‘There ain’t another seat,’ says the driver,—­’and he ain’t a big man, sir—­guess maybe you’ll let him have a corner—­we’ll make it all right, sir.’  He had a corner,—­and so did our heroine!  The new dress!  Never mind; the sooner this went the sooner she would get another.  And they rolled off, sweetly and silently, upon the country road.  The morning was lovely.  Light scarfs of fog floated about the mountain tops, light veils of cloud just mystified the sky; the tree-tops glittered with dew, the birds flew in and out; and through an open corner of her leathern curtain Wych Hazel peered out, gazing at the new world wherein she was going to seek her fortune.

‘Spend the Summer at Chickaree, Mr. Falkirk?’ said a voice from the further end of the coach.  Wych Hazel drew in her head and her attention, and sat back to listen.