"Yis, Sorr--if th' yoong lady says so--beg pardon, Sorr, Miss Landis is
driving."

"Oh--h! I see. . Is Miss Landis a guest at Shotover House?"

"Yis, Sorr. An' if ye would joost ask her--the phayton do be coming now,
Sorr!"

The phaeton was coming; the horse, a showy animal, executed side-steps;
blue ribbons fluttered from the glittering head-stall; a young girl in
white was driving.

Siward advanced to the platform's edge as the phaeton drew up; the young
lady looked inquiringly at the groom, at the dog, and leisurely at him.

So he took off his hat, naming himself in that well-bred and agreeable
manner characteristic of men of his sort,--and even his smile appeared to
be part and parcel of a conventional ensemble so harmonious as to remain
inconspicuous.

"You should have gone on to Black Fells Crossing," observed Miss Landis,
coolly controlling the nervous horse. "Didn't you know it?"

He said he remembered now that such were the directions given him.

The girl glanced at him incuriously, and with more curiosity at the dog.
"Is that the Sagamore pup, Flynn?" she asked.

"It is, Miss."