with the man who always meets the ferry in an automobile to hire.
The man looked as if he were in a dazy dream, which I don't blame
him for at all, because we did look quite weird. He and the Bottle
Man lifted Gregg, mattress and all, and stowed him in on the back
seat of the automobile. The rest of us perched on the front seat and
the running-board, trying to conceal our strange appearance from the
staring of quite a crowd which was gathering, as it was just
ferry-time.

Our man said, "17 Luke Street, and go carefully." It surprised us
for a second to hear him say our address as if he'd known it always,
but then we realized that he _had_ known it for quite a long time.

I think none of us will ever forget the way the house looked as we
swung around the corner and came up Luke Street. Just the end of the
gable first, behind the two big beeches in the front garden,--oh, we
hadn't seen it for years and centuries,--and then the living-room
windows open, with the curtains blowing, and the little box-bush
that grows in a fat jar on the porch-steps. Mother was coming out at
the front door, and she looked just the way she did when we got a
telegram once saying that Grannie was very ill. Jerry jumped off the
running-board before the automobile stopped, and he let Mother hug
him right there in the middle of the path, which is a thing he
generally hates. By that time our man and the chauffeur were lifting
Greg and the mattress out, and Mother let go of Jerry and stood
quite still, with her face all white and hollow-looking. We all
began talking at once, and the Bottle Man managed to tell Mother
more about everything in a few minutes than you would think
possible.