esbury.
I disremember if he's buried there; but we'll wake his ghost, anyway."

So by Offenham and Dead Man Eyot they came to the high embankment of a
railway, and thence to a bridge, and a beautiful bell-tower leapt into
view, soaring above the mills and roofs of Evesham.

At Evesham, a little above the Workman Gardens, they left the canoe in
charge of a waterman, and fared up to the town, where Mr. Jessup led
them into a palatial hotel--or so it seemed to the children--and ordered
a regal luncheon. It was served by a waiter in a dress suit; an ancient
and benign-looking person, whose appearance and demeanour so weighed
upon Tilda that, true to her protective instinct, she called up all her
courage to nod across the table at Arthur Miles and reassure him.
To her stark astonishment, the boy was eating without embarrassment, as
though to be waited on with this pomp had been a mere matter of course.

When the cheese was brought, Mr. Jessup left them on a trivial pretext,
and absented himself so long that at length she began to wonder what
would happen if he had "done a bilk," and left them to discharge the
score. The waiter hovered around, nicking at the side-tables with his
napkin and brushing them clean of imaginary crumbs.

Tilda, eking out her last morsel of biscuit, opined that their friend
would surely be back presently. She addressed the remark to Arthur
Miles; but the waiter at once stepped forward.

"It is to be 'oped!" said he, absent-mindedly dusting the back of a
chair.

Just at this moment a strange throbbing noise drew him to the window, to
gaze out into the street. It alarmed the children too, and they were
about to follow and seek the cause of it, when Mr. Jessup appeared in
the doorway.

"I've managed it!" he announced, and calling to the waiter, demanded the
bill.

The waiter turned, whisked a silver-plated salver apparently out of
nowhere, and presented a paper upon it.

"Nine-and-six--_and_ one is ten-and-six. I thank you, sir," said the
waiter, bowing low.

He was good enough to follow them to the doorway, where Mr. Jessup waved
a hand to indicate a motor standing ready beside the pavement, and told
the children to tumble in.

"I've taken your tip, you see."

"My tip?" gasped Tilda.

"Well, you gave me the hint for it, like Sir Isaac Newton's apple.
I've hired the car for the afternoon; and now, if you'll tuck yourselves
in with these rugs, you two'll have the time of your lives.