and I nearly fell. I should very much like to have lain down and gone to sleep in a cool clean white bed.
At last we came, after many short stops, to a stop, and 'the Colonel's man' put his hand on my arm: and then I was lifted down, and we went out, I just behind him, a porter carrying the box. At the door in the cool evening wind, 'the Colonel's man' agreed with a boy to take the box up to Park Road for sixpence. And we all set off.
After a little 'the Colonel's man' and I wore ahead. It was a steep hill, and I felt rather tired but not so sleepy now. We went on slowly, till he stopped and said: 'Give us a hand. It is a bit of a pull up this hill, young 'un, ain't it—eh?'
I gave him my hand and we went on again till, passing through the light of a tall lamp-post and through an open gate, we stood on the flagstone before a low doorway. 'The Colonel's man' pulled at the bell-handle. A bell rang. Then, in a little, we heard steps and the door was opened by a maid with a white apron and cap.
'Well, good-bye, my lad,' said 'the Colonel's man,' turning to me, 'I'm about at the end of my part o' the business, I reckon. Good luck to ye, sir, good luck to ye!'
He put his hand on my shoulder, and passed out through the gate and into the darkness. I looked after him slowly. The maid stamped her feet on the ground. 'Where's your box?' said she.
At that moment the boy with the wheel-barrow and the box appeared under the lamp-post at the corner, some little way off. She must have seen him.
'Oh, that's it,' said she, 'I suppose he's paid all right?'
'Yes: "the Colonel's man" paid him,' I said.
'Then you'd better go into the dining-room. Give us your keys first.' (I found and gave her the key of my box)—'That's it.' She pointed to the door in the left side of the hall.
I crossed the oil-cloth carpet: opened the door, and went in.
A large fire was burning with a flickering light. It flickered on the black glazy table-cloth of a long thin
