Uncle Geoff. He ran up
to see us again in the evening--about four o'clock, our tea-time, that
is to say--and said he was sorry the weather was so bad, he hoped it
would be better to-morrow, but even as he was speaking to us the
man-servant came up to say he was wanted again, and he had to run off.
And I'm sure all the afternoon the bell had never left off ringing, and
there were lots and lots of carriages came to the door, with ladies and
gentlemen and even children, to see him. If we could have watched the
people getting out and in of the carriages it would have been fun, but
from the day nursery window we couldn't see them well, for standing up
on the window-sill was too high, and standing on a chair was too low. It
wasn't till some time after that, that we found out we could see them
beautifully from the bedroom window, by putting a buffet in an old
rocking-chair that always stood there. And by four o'clock it was quite
dark!

After tea we all sat round the fire together--_the_ thought, I know, was
still in Pierson's mind and mine--whether it was in Tom's or not, I
don't know, for he didn't say anything. Only we were all tired and dull,
and Racey climbed up on to Pierson's knee, and told her he would go away
to the country with her--"London was such a ugly place." And Pierson
sighed, and said she wished he could. And then she began telling us
about the village in the country, that was her home, and where she was
going back again to live, when she was married to Harding, who was the
blacksmith there. Her father had been a farmer but he had died, and her
mother was left very poor, and with several children. And Pierson was
the eldest, and couldn't be married to Harding for a long time, because
she had to work for the others, so perhaps it was all her troubles that
had made her grumpy. But now all the others were settled--some were in
America and some were "up in the north," she said. We didn't know what
that meant--afterwards Tom said he thought it meant Iceland, and Racey
thought it meant the moon, but we forgot to ask her. So now Pierson was
going at last to be married to Harding.

"Is he _all_ black?" I remember Tom asked.

"All black, Master Tom," Pierson said, rather indignantly. "Of course
not--no blacker than you or me, though perhaps his hands may be brown.
But once he's well cleaned of the smoke and the dust, he's a very nice
complexion for a working man. Whatever put it in your head that he was
black?"