The Ten made themselves very much at home at Mohair.  One of them told the Celebrity he reminded him very much of a man he had met in New York and who had written a book, or something of that sort, which made the Celebrity wince.  The afternoon was spent in one of the stable lofts, where Mr. Cooke had set up a mysterious L-shaped box, in one arm of which a badger was placed by a groom, while my client’s Sarah, a terrier, was sent into the other arm to invite the badger out.  His objections exceeded the highest hopes; he dug his claws into the wood and devoted himself to Sarah’s countenance with unremitting industry.  This occupation was found so absorbing that it was with difficulty the Ten were induced to abandon it and dress for an early dinner, and only did so after the second peremptory message from Mrs. Cooke.

“It’s always this way,” said Mr. Cooke, regretfully, as he watched Sarah licking the accessible furrows in her face; “I never started in on anything worth doing yet that Maria did not stop it.”

Farrar and I were not available for the dance, and after dinner we looked about for a quiet spot in which to weather it, and where we could be within reach if needed.  Such a place as this was the Florentine galleried porch, which ran along outside the upper windows of the ball-room; these were flung open, for the night was warm.  At one end of the room the musicians, imported from Minneapolis by Mr. Cooke, were striking the first discordant notes of the tuning, while at the other the Celebrity and my client, in scarlet hunting-coats, were gravely instructing the Ten, likewise in scarlet hunting-coats, as to their conduct and functions.  We were reviewing these interesting proceedings when Mrs. Cooke came hurrying towards us.  She held a letter in her hand.

“You know,” said she, “that Mr. Cooke is forgetful, particularly when his mind is occupied with important matters, as it has been for some time.  Here is a letter from my niece, Miss Thorn, which he has carried in his pocket since Monday.  We expected her two weeks ago, and had given her up.  But it seems she was to leave Philadelphia on Wednesday, and will be at that forlorn little station of Asquith at half-past nine to-night.  I want you two to go over and meet her.”

We expressed our readiness, and in ten minutes were in the station wagon, rolling rapidly down the long drive, for it was then after nine.  We passed on the way the van of the guests from Asquith.  As we reached the lodge we heard the whistle, and we backed up against one side of the platform as the train pulled up at the other.