Amory to his two sons. "Let this be a
lesson to you. Never give anonymous presents. It is foolish, and it leads
to trouble; and very likely the wrong person will be thanked."
Mrs. Avory handed him the letter, and he read it.
"Quite clear," he said, "but not what I call a sensible way of doing
things. Your explanation satisfies me."
Mrs. Avory expressed her regret that the mistake had occurred. "But," she
added, "you must allow that we had no other course than to accept the
present as though it really belonged to us. We have for so many years been
the only Avories here."
"But have you so many friends," Mr. Amory inquired, "who would be likely to
give you anonymously so handsome a gift?
It did not strike you as strange?"
"Certainly not," said Mrs. Avory.
Mr. Amory again said "Ha!"
"The caravan," Mrs. Avory resumed, rising to her feet, "shall be put in
order directly it returns, and sent to your address. Anything that has been
taken from it or broken shall be replaced. I can say no more than that.
Good afternoon."
It was not, however, the end of the visit, for at that instant the sound of
heavy wheels was heard, and cheers in the street, and, looking out of the
window, Mrs. Avory saw that the Slowcoach had already arrived, escorted (as
it had left) by all the children of Chiswick, and a moment later Janet
burst into the room, crying, "Mother, do come and see!"
She pulled up stiff on observing the strangers.
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