Sir John smiled. "I believe you," he said. He went upstairs, feeling
puzzled. But when he laid his head on his pillow he was so tired that he
fell sound asleep. The sleep seemed to last but for a minute or two when
Jean's harsh voice was heard telling him to rise, for it was five
o'clock in the morning. Then there came a time of bustle and confusion.
The girls, with their faces white as sheets, came down to breakfast in
their usual fashion--hand linked within hand. Sir John thought, as he
glanced at them, that he had never seen a more desolate-looking little
trio. They hardly ate any of the excellent food which Jean had provided.
The good baronet guessed that their hearts were full, and did not worry
them with questions.

The pile of deal boxes had disappeared from the narrow hall and was
already on its way to Dunstan Station, where they were to meet a local
train which would presently enable them to join the express for London.
There was a bewildered moment of great anguish when Jean caught the
lassies to her breast, when the dogs clustered round to be embraced and
hugged and patted. Then Donald, leading the horse (for there was no room
for him to ride in the crowded dogcart), started briskly on the road to
Dunstan, and Craigie Muir was left far behind.

By and by they all reached the railway station. The luggage was piled up
on the platform. Sir John took first-class tickets to London, and the
curious deal boxes found their place in the luggage van. Donald's
grizzly head and rugged face were seen for one minute as the train
steamed out of the station. Betty clutched at the side of her dress
where Aunt Frances' old flat pocket which contained the packet was
secured. The other two girls looked at her with a curious mingling of
awe and admiration, and then they were off.

Sir John guessed at the young people's feelings, and did not trouble
them with conversation. By and by they left the small train and got into
a compartment reserved for them in the London express. Sir John did
everything he could to enliven the journey for his young cousins. But
they were taciturn and irresponsive. Betty's wonderful gray eyes looked
out of the window at the passing landscape, which Sir John was quite
sure she did not see; Sylvia and Hester were absorbed in watching their
sister. Sir John had a queer kind of feeling that there was something
wrong with the girls' dress; that very coarse black serge, made with no
attempt at style; the co