“The streets are nothing but slush,” said the governor, “it will give you a good warming, my boy, to get him clean and dry.”
“All right, governor,” said Harry, “I shall not leave him till he is; you know I have been trained by my father.”
“I wish all the boys had been trained like you,” said the governor.
While Harry was sponging off the mud from Hotspur’s body and legs Dolly came in, looking very full of something.
“Who lives at Fairstowe, Harry? Mother has got a letter from Fairstowe; she seemed so glad, and ran upstairs to father with it.”
“Don’t you know? Why, it is the name of Mrs. Fowler’s place—mother’s old mistress, you know—the lady that father met last summer, who sent you and me five shillings each.”
“Oh! Mrs. Fowler. Of course, I know all about her. I wonder what she is writing to mother about.”
“Mother wrote to her last week,” said Harry, “you know she told father if ever he gave up the cab work she would like to know. I wonder what she says; run in and see, Dolly.”
Harry scrubbed away at Hotspur with a huish! huish! like any old hostler. In a few minutes Dolly came dancing into the stable.
“Oh! Harry, there never was anything so beautiful; Mrs. Fowler says we are all to go and live near her. There is a cottage now empty that will just suit us, with a garden and a henhouse, and apple-trees, and everything! and her coachman is going away in the spring, and then she will want father in his place; and there are good families round, where you can get a place in the garden or the stable, or as a pageboy; and there’s a good school for me; and mother is laughing and crying by turns, and father does look so happy!”