Two trunks, a holdall, a hatbox--in which reposed, in solitary grandeur, Francesca's picture hat, intended for the further undoing of the Irish gentry--a guitar case, two bags, three umbrellas; all were safe but Salemina's large Vuitton trunk and my valise, which had been last seen at Edinburgh station.

Salemina returned to the boat, while Francesca and I wended our way among the heaps of luggage, followed by crowds of ragamuffins, who offered to run for a car, run for a cab, run for a porter, carry our luggage up the street to the cab-stand, carry our wraps, carry us, 'do any mortial thing for a penny, melady, an' there is no cars here, melady, God bless me sowl, and that He be good to us all if I'm tellin' you a word of a lie!' Entirely unused to this flow of conversation, we were obliged to stop every few seconds to recount our luggage and try to remember what we were looking for.

We all met finally, and I rescued Salemina from the voluble thanks of an old woman to whom she had thoughtlessly given a three-penny bit.

This mother of a 'long wake family' was wishing that Salemina might live to 'ate the hin' that scratched over her grave, and invoking many other uncommon and picturesque blessings, but we were obliged to ask her to desist and let us attend to our own business.
"Will I clane the whole of thim off for you for a penny, your ladyship's honour, ma'am ?" asked the oldest of the ragamuffins, and I gladly assented to the novel proposition.

He did it, too, and there seemed to be no hurt feelings in the company.
Just then there was a rattle of cabs and side-cars, and our self-constituted major-domo engaged two of them to await our pleasure.
At the same moment our eyes lighted upon Salemina's huge Vuitton, which had been dragged behind the pile of wool sacks.