"There's a mort of grounds in the cocoa that's sold here," he went
on, after a look, "and 'tisn't the sort that does the stomach good,
neither. For their own sakes, I'll give the word to start, and chance
their thankin' me some day later when they learn what things be made
of."

The other twin arose, shook the crumbs off his trousers, and stretched
himself. I guessed now that this newly-married pair had delayed
traffic at the Dunford terminus of the Cuckoo Valley Railway for
almost an hour and a half; and I determined to travel into Tregarrick
by the same train.

So we strolled out of the inn towards the line, the lovers following,
arm-in-arm, some fifty paces behind.

"How far is it to the station?" I inquired.

The twins stared at me.

Presently we turned down a lane scored with dry ruts, passed an oak
plantation, and came on a clearing where the train stood ready. The
line did not finish: it ended in a heap of sand. There were eight
trucks, seven of them laden with granite, and an engine, with a
prodigiously long funnel, bearing the name _The Wonder of the Age_ in
brass letters along its boiler.

"Now," said one of the twins, while the other raked up the furnace,
"you can ride in the empty truck with the lovers, or on the engine
along with us--which you like."