‘Was it possible—­could that mean-looking old man be Uncle Silas?’

The idea stunned me; but I almost instantly perceived that he was much too small, and I was relieved, and even grateful.  It was certainly an odd mode of procedure to devote primary attention to the trunks and boxes, leaving the travellers still shut up in the carriage, of which they were by this time pretty well tired.  I was not sorry for the reprieve, however:  being nervous about first impressions, and willing to defer mine, I sat shyly back, peeping at the candle and moonlight picture before me, myself unseen.

‘Will you tell—­yes or no—­is my cousin in the coach?’ screamed the plump young lady, stamping her stout black boot, in a momentary lull.

Yes, I was there, sure.

‘And why the puck don’t you let her out, you stupe, you?’

’Run down, Giblets, you never do nout without driving, and let Cousin Maud out.  You’re very welcome to Bartram.’  This greeting was screamed at an amazing pitch, and repeated before I had time to drop the window, and say ‘thank you.’  ‘I’d a let you out myself—­there’s a good dog, you would na’ bite Cousin’ (the parenthesis was to a huge mastiff, who thrust himself beside her, by this time quite pacified)—­’only I daren’t go down the steps, for the governor said I shouldn’t.’

The venerable person who went by the name of Giblets had by this time opened the carriage door, and our courier, or ’boots’—­he looked more like the latter functionary—­had lowered the steps, and in greater trepidation than I experienced when in after-days I was presented to my sovereign, I glided down, to offer myself to the greeting and inspection of the plain-spoken young lady who stood at the top of the steps to receive me.

She welcomed me with a hug and a hearty buss, as she called that salutation, on each cheek, and pulled me into the hall, and was evidently glad to see me.

’And you’re tired a bit, I warrant; and who’s the old ‘un, who?’ she asked eagerly, in a stage whisper, which made my ear numb for five minutes after.  ’Oh, oh, the maid! and a precious old ’un—­ha, ha, ha!  But lawk! how grand she is, with her black silk, cloak and crape, and I only in twilled cotton, and rotten old Coburg for Sundays.  Odds! it’s a shame; but you’ll be tired, you will.  It’s a smartish pull, they do say, from Knowl.  I know a spell of it, only so far as the “Cat and Fiddle,” near the Lunnon-road.  Come up, will you?  Would you like to come in first and talk a bit wi’ the governor?  Father, you know, he’s a bit silly, he is, this while.’  I found that the phrase meant only bodily infirmity.  ‘He took a pain o’ Friday, newralgie—­something or other he calls it—­rheumatics it is when it takes old “Giblets” there; and he’s sitting in his own room; or maybe you’d like better to come to your bedroom first, for it is dirty work travelling, they do say.’