The train was
well on the move when he rushed into the station; but he dashed at a
compartment in the last carriage, wrenched the door open, scrambled on
to the footboard, and tumbled in, amidst the shouts of the indignant
porters.
Tinker drew in his head with a blank face. It had been no part of his
father's plan that Mr. Biggleswade should travel by the same train to
London, and his heart sank a little. But remembering Blazer, his
spirits rose, and he turned to the little girl with a cheerful face.
She was panting, crying, and wringing her hands in a paroxysm of
nervous excitement. He sat down beside her, thumped her on the back--a
way he had with tearful females--wiped away her tears with his
handkerchief, and poured comforting assurances of safety into her ears.
[Illustration: He poured comforting assurances of safety into her ears.]
When at last he had soothed her he began to question her, and drew from
her the story of her captivity. She had driven miles and miles with
the gentleman who had fetched her from Kensington Gardens, to a little
house in a long street. There she had found the Biggleswades. Mrs.
Biggleswade had taken away her nice clothes, and dressed her in these
common things.
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