Its music changed as the horses came to a stand, and subsided to a gentle tinkling, except when a horse tossed his head or shook himself and sprinkled off a little shower of bell-ringing.
"Our postilion is looking after the waggoner," said Richard, "and the waggoner is coming back after us.

Good day, friend!" The waggoner was at our coach-door.

"Why, here's an extraordinary thing!" added Richard, looking closely at the man.

"He has got your name, Ada, in his hat!" He had all our names in his hat.

Tucked within the band were three small notes--one addressed to Ada, one to Richard, one to me.