When he had read it thrice, he put it in his pocket and went on reading The Times.
At about six that evening there was a knock at the back door.

The three children rushed to open it, and there stood the friendly Porter, who had told them so many interesting things about railways.

He dumped down a big hamper on the kitchen flags.
"Old gent," he said; "he asked me to fetch it up straight away." "Thank you very much," said Peter, and then, as the Porter lingered, he added:-- "I'm most awfully sorry I haven't got twopence to give you like Father does, but--" "You drop it if you please," said the Porter, indignantly.

"I wasn't thinking about no tuppences.

I only wanted to say I was sorry your Mamma wasn't so well, and to ask how she finds herself this evening--and I've fetched her along a bit of sweetbrier, very sweet to smell it is.
Twopence indeed," said he, and produced a bunch of sweetbrier from his hat, "just like a conjurer," as Phyllis remarked afterwards.
"Thank you very much," said Peter, "and I beg your pardon about the twopence." "No offence," said the Porter, untruly but politely, and went.
Then the children undid the hamper.