ker, the dancing-master. If you enjoyed her confidence,--as Aunt
Mary did,--she would tell you of her own accord who gave their servants
enough to eat, and who didn't. Anne Rory was a sort of inquisition
all by herself, and would have made a valuable chief of police. The
reputations of certain elderly gentlemen of wealth might have remained
to this day intact had it not been for her; she had a heaven-sent knack
of discovering peccadilloes. Anne Rory knew the gentlemen by sight, and
the gentlemen did not know Anne Rory. Uncle Tom she held to be somewhere
in the calendar of the saints.

There is not time, alas, to linger over Anne Rory or the new histories
which she whispered to Aunt Mary when Honora was out of the room. At
last the eventful day of departure arrived. Honora's new trunk--her
first--was packed by Aunt Mary's own hands, the dainty clothes and the
dresses folded in tissue paper, while old Catherine stood sniffing by.
After dinner--sign of a great occasion--a carriage came from Braintree's
Livery Stable, and Uncle Tom held the horses while the driver carried
out the trunk and strapped it on. Catherine, Mary Ann, and Bridget, all
weeping, were kissed good-by, and off they went through the dusk to the
station. Not the old Union Depot, with its wooden sheds, where Honora
had gone so often to see the Hanburys off, that grimy gateway to the
fairer regions of the earth. This new station, of brick and stone and
glass and tiles, would hold an army corps with ease. And when they
alighted at the carriage entrance, a tall figure came forward out of the
shadow. It was Peter, and he had a package under his arm. Peter
checked Honora's trunk, and Peter had got the permission--through Judge
Brice--which enabled them all to pass through the grille and down the
long walk beside which the train was standing.

They entered that hitherto mysterious conveyance, a sleeping-car,
and spoke to old Mrs. Stanley, who was going East to see her married
daughter, and who had gladly agreed to take charge of Honora. Afterwards
they stood on the platform, but in spite of the valiant efforts of Uncle
Tom and Peter, conversation was a mockery.

"Honora," said Aunt Mary, "don't forget that your trunk key is in the
little pocket on the left side of your bag."

"No, Aunt Mary."

"And your little New Testament at the bottom. And your lunch is arranged
in three packages. And don't forget to ask Cousin Eleanor about the
walking shoes, and to give