O'Donnell dismounted and opened the door. He lifted the three out one by
one, shaking his head in humorous dismay at Pin, and as little Frank
showed sighs of beginning, too, by puckering up his face and [P.22]
doubling up his body, the kindly man tried to make them laugh by asking
if he had the stomach-ache. Laura had one more glimpse of the children
standing hand in hand--even in her trouble Pin did not forget her
charges--then a sharp bend in the road hid them from her sight.

She was alone in the capacious body of the coach, alone, and the proud
excitement of parting was over. The staunchly repressed tears welled up
with a gush, and flinging herself down across the seat she cried
bitterly. It was not a childishly irresponsible grief like Pin's: it was
more passionate, and went deeper; and her overloaded feelings were soon
relieved. But as she was not used to crying, she missed the moment at
which she might have checked herself, and went on shedding tears after
they had become a luxury.

"Why, goodness gracious, what's this?" cried a loud, cheerful and
astonished voice, and a fat, rosy face beamed in on Laura. "Why, here's a
little girl in here, cryin' fit to break 'er heart. Come, come, my dear,
what's the matter? Don't cry like that, now don't."

The coach had stopped, the door opened and a stout woman climbed in,
bearing a big basket, and followed by a young man with straw-coloured
whiskers. Laura sat up like a dart and pulled her hat straight, crimson
with mortification at being discovered in such a plight. She had
instantly curbed her tears, but she could not disguise the fact that she
had red eyes and a swollen nose--that she was in short what Sarah
called "all bunged up". She made no reply to the newcomer's exclamations,
but sat clutching her handkerchief and staring out of the window.