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Updated: May 7, 2025
Hucks regretfully. "That being so, we'll come to business. May I take a seat?" "Where you " He was going to say "please," but substituted "choose" "Thank you. My name's Breward Sally Breward, and I live at a place called Culvercoombe, on the Devon and Somerset border. My business is that I'm interested in a couple of children, about whom you know something.
He recognised the stranger at once, and reined up as he overtook him. "Good day again, sir! Can I offer you a lift?" "I thank you," said the stranger. "I am bound for a place called Culvercoombe." "Why, and so am I! So you must give me the pleasure." "You are exceedingly kind." He clambered up, not very skilfully, and the dog-cart bowled on again. For a while the two kept silence.
But you can't get over to Culvercoombe to-night: to-morrow we'll see. . . . What's your name, by the way?" "Arthur Miles." "And your sister's?" "She's called Tilda; but she she isn't really " Farmer Tossell was not listening. "You'll have to sleep with us to-night. She ought to havin' six of her own, besides nine of my first family."
It had been handed in at the Monte Carlo post office on Sunday night, addressed to Culvercoombe, but at what hour she could not decipher. The Fair Anchor office was closed on Sunday, and opened on Monday at eight o'clock. The telegram had been received there at 8.12; had been taken to Culvercoombe, and apparently re-transmitted at 12.15. All this was unimportant.
She did not remember that she had once thanked her gods for it. The rural postman carried a brass cowhorn, and made a practice of sounding it as he mounted the road leading to Culvercoombe. Its note, sounding through the clear morning air, aroused Tilda from her brown study, and she ran lightly up the slope to catch him on the upper terrace.
The rider reined up, and by the light of his lamps Parson Chichester recognised the young giant Roger. "What's your errand, my friend?" "To Culvercoombe. The children " "Miss Sally has left by the night train. I drove her over to Fair Anchor myself. What of the children? We were expecting them all the afternoon." "They are gone lost!
It's ten years or so since we parted, that evening of the funeral; but a telegram from me will fetch him, or I am mistaken." "Let me save you some trouble. To-morrow is Sunday, and my parishioners will be glad enough to escape a sermon at Morning Service. Let me cut the sermon and ride over to Meriton, get the address and bring it to Culvercoombe.
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