"Oh! there's a boy!" cried Maggie, amazed at her own relief."How often do the trains come in?" she asked.
"Well, we don't have many trains in the off-season," said Paul.
"They put on several extra ones in the summer.""Oh, what's the sand doing?" Maggie cried.
She had seen sand often enough in her own Glebeshire, but never sand like this.Under the influence of the wind it was blowing and curving into little spirals of dust; a sudden cloud, with a kind of personal animosity rose and flung itself across the rails at Maggie and Paul.They were choking and blinded--and in the distance clouds of sand rose and fell, with gusts and impulses that seemed personal and alive.
"What funny sand!" said Maggie again."When it blows in Glebeshire it blows and there's a perfect storm.There's a storm or there isn't.Here--" She broke off.She could see that Paul hadn't the least idea of what she was speaking.
"The sand is always blowing about here," he said."Now what about tea?"They walked back through the High Street and not a soul was to be seen.
"Does nobody live here?" asked Maggie.
"The population," said Paul quite gravely, "is eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-four.""Oh, I see," said Maggie.
They had tea in the dusty study again.
"I'm going to change this house," said Maggie.
"Change it?" asked Paul."What's my little girl going to do?""She's going to destroy ever so many things," said Maggie.
"You'd better wait," said Paul, moving a little away, "until Grace comes back, dear.You can consult with her."Maggie said nothing.
Next day Mrs.Constantine, Miss Purves, and Mrs.Maxse came to tea.