After two hours spent on the railroad, the train entered a district with the bleakness, but not the beauty, of the neighbourhood of mountains; the fresh September breeze was laden with smoke, and stations stood thick upon the line.  As the train dashed up to one of these, a flag was seen waving, and the shout of ’Cheveleigh, Cheveleigh road!’ greeted them.

On the platform stood a tall footman, in the most crimson of coats, powdered hair, and a stupendous crimson and white shoulder-knot, auch as Clara had only seen going to St. James’s.  She would never have imagined that she had any concern with such splendour; but her grandmother asked him if the carriage were there, as a mere matter of course, and Jane devolved on him all luggage cares, as coolly as if she had been ruling over him all his life.

As they issued from the station, a thin, uncertain, boyish cheer rang out, and before them stood a handsome open carriage and four chestnut horses, with crimson postillions, and huge crimson-and-white satin rosettes.

‘Wont they all turn to rats and pumpkins?’ whispered Clara to Louis.

‘Bless the poor boy!’ cried Mrs. Frost, between laughing and crying, ’what has he been about?  Does he think I am the Sheriff’s lady still?’

The party entered the carriage, and the crowd of little boys and girls, flymen and porters, got up another ‘hurrah!’ as the four horses went thundering off, with Mrs. Frost apologizing—­’Poor Oliver’s notions were on such a grand scale!—­He had been so long absent, that he did not know how much these things had been disused.’  But no one could look at her bright tearful eyes, and quivering mouth, without seeing that she exulted in her son’s affection and his victory; and after all it was natural to her, and a resumption of old habits.

They drove through two miles of brown flat heath, with far-away mountain outlines, which she greeted as dear friends.  Here and there the engine-house of a mine rose up among shabby buildings, and by-and-by was seen a square church-tower, with lofty pinnacles, among which floated forth a flag.  The old lady caught hold convulsively of Clara’s hand—­’The old church!—­My old church!—­See, Clara, that is where your dear grandfather lies!—­My last home!’

With brimming eyes Mrs. Frost gazed on it as it came forth more distinctly, and Clara looked with a sense of awe; but rending her away from grave thoughts, shouts burst upon her ears, and above them the pealing crash of all the bells, as they dashed under a splendid triumphal arch, all evergreens and dahlias, forming the word ‘Welcome!’ and were met by a party on horseback waving their hats, while a great hurrah burst out from the numbers who lined the street.  Mrs. Frost bowed her thanks and waved her hand.  ‘But oh!’ she said, almost sobbing, ‘where am I?  This is not Cheveleigh.’