| 158 | 159 | 160 | 161 | 162 |
| 1 | 133 | 265 | 398 | 530 |
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'I'm afraid you've rung a good many times perhaps,' she rejoined, 'but
we couldn't hear you, because we've been catching the pony.'
Kit rather wondered what this meant, but as he couldn't stop there,
asking questions, he shouldered the box again and followed the girl
into the hall, where through a back-door he descried Mr Garland
leading Whisker in triumph up the garden, after that self-willed pony
had (as he afterwards learned) dodged the family round a small
paddock in the rear, for one hour and three quarters.
The old gentleman received him very kindly and so did the old lady,
whose previous good opinion of him was greatly enhanced by his
wiping his boots on the mat until the soles of his feet burnt again. He
was then taken into the parlour to be inspected in his new clothes;
and when he had been surveyed several times, and had afforded by
his appearance unlimited satisfaction, he was taken into the stable
(
where the pony received him with uncommon complaisance); and
thence into the little chamber he had already observed, which was
very clean and comfortable: and thence into the garden, in which the
old gentleman told him he would be taught to employ himself, and
where he told him, besides, what great things he meant to do to make
him comfortable, and happy, if he found he deserved it. All these
kindnesses, Kit acknowledged with various expressions of gratitude,
and so many touches of the new hat, that the brim suffered
considerably. When the old gentleman had said all he had to say in
the way of promise and advice, and Kit had said all he had to say in
the way of assurance and thankfulness, he was handed over again to
the old lady, who, summoning the little servant-girl (whose name was
Barbara) instructed her to take him down stairs and give him
something to eat and drink, after his walk.
Down stairs, therefore, Kit went; and at the bottom of the stairs there
was such a kitchen as was never before seen or heard of out of a toy-
shop window, with everything in it as bright and glowing, and as
precisely ordered too, as Barbara herself. And in this kitchen, Kit sat
himself down at a table as white as a tablecloth, to eat cold meat, and
drink small ale, and use his knife and fork the more awkwardly,
because there was an unknown Barbara looking on and observing
him.
It did not appear, however, that there was anything remarkably
tremendous about this strange Barbara, who having lived a very quiet
life, blushed very much and was quite as embarrassed and uncertain
what she ought to say or do, as Kit could possibly be. When he had
sat for some little time, attentive to the ticking of the sober clock, he
ventured to glance curiously at the dresser, and there, among the
plates and dishes, were Barbara's little work-box with a sliding lid to
shut in the balls of cotton, and Barbara's prayer-book, and Barbara's
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