’Only a broiled chicken, sir—­and a souffle—­and potatoes a la creme au gratin,’ said Miss Hazel, throwing off her bonnet and curling herself down on the arm of the sofa.  ’Mr. Falkirk, all my previous acquaintance with cushions was superficial!—­And could you just open the window, sir, and throw back the blinds? last November is in this room, apples and all.’

Mr. Falkirk obeyed directions, remarking that people who travel in search of their fortune must expect to meet with November in unexpected places; and then went off into the general eating-room, and by and by, from there or some other insalubrious region came a servant, with half of an imperfectly broiled fowl and muddy dish of coffee, flanked by a watery pickled cucumbers.  Mr. Falkirk himself presently returned.

‘How does it go?’ he said.

‘What, Mr. Falkirk?’ the young lady was curled down in one corner of the sofa, much like a kitten; a small specimen of which animal purred complacently on her shoulder.

‘Could you eat, Miss Hazel?’

’Truly, sir, I could.  Mr. Falkirk—­what a lovely kitten!  Do you remark her length of tail?’

Mr. Falkirk thought he had heard of “puss in boots” before, but never had the full realization thereof till now.

‘You have tasted nothing,’ he said.  ’What shall I get you?  We shall be off in a few minutes, and you will not have another chance till we reach Hadyn’s Dam.’

’Thank you, sir.  A few minutes of undisturbed repose—­with the removal of those cucumbers—­and the restoration of that chicken to its other and I hope better half, is all that I require.’

‘You will have rest at Hadyn’s Dam,’ said Mr. Falkirk with a face more expressive than his words.—­’The bridge there is broken.’

’Queer place to rest, sir!  Mr. Falkirk—­there is Mr. Kingsland wondering why you keep me here.’

‘He’s eating his dinner.’

‘Is he?  I am afraid there will be crumbs in the piazza,’ said Wych Hazel, closing her eyes.  ’He says he don’t wonder you are kept.’

’What shall I get you, Wych?  You cannot go from here to the next stopping place without anything,’ Mr. Falkirk said kindly.

’If you could find me, sir, a basket that would just hold this kitten’—­

Mr. Falkirk wasted no more words, but went off, and came back with a glass of milk and a plate of doubtful ‘chunks’ of cake.  The room was empty.  Bonnet and veil were gone, and even the kitten had disappeared.  Meanwhile the stage coach rattled and swung up to the piazza steps, where were presently gathered the various travellers, one by one.  ‘Mr. Falkirk,’ said Mr. Kingsland, as that gentleman came out rather hastily to see if his charge might be there, too, ’you are not surely—­agoing on alone?’

Back went Mr. Falkirk into the house again to look for his missing ward, who had plainly been foraging.  On the table was a paper of crackers; two blue-eyed and blue-aproned youngsters stood watching every motion as she swallowed the glass of milk, and in her hand was a suspicious looking basket.  Wych Hazel set down her empty tumbler.