Part 13 (1/2)

”_Home_, do you mean, Diana?” they said. ”Home to our own dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma?”

”And Toby,” added Duke.

”And Toby,” echoed Pam.

Diana clasped them tight; her eyes, that for many a day had not shed a tear, were running over.

”Yes, home, my blessed darlings,” she said.

”But you'll come with us” was the next idea. ”You've been so good to us.

Grandpapa'd never put _you_ in prison, Diana.”

They sat up now and looked at her anxiously.

”Perhaps not,” she said, shaking her head nevertheless. ”But I dursn't go with you. I must stay here to stop them going the right way after you for one thing. And then--you didn't know it, but, bad as he is, Mick's my brother. I dursn't get him into trouble.”

”Mick's your bruvver!” repeated Pam; ”the same as bruvver is to me. And he speaks so naughty to you, Diana. I don't fink he _can_ be your bruvver. I fink you've made a mistake. Oh do come wif us, dear Diana.

You and Tim.”

”Yes for Tim, it'd be the best thing he could do, and the best chance for you to get safe home. But for me,” and again Diana shook her head.

”Let alone Mick, I'm only a poor wild gipsy girl,” she said. ”I couldn't take to your pretty quiet ways; no, it'd kill me. It's in the gipsy blood--we must for ever be on the go. It wasn't so bad long ago when father and mother was alive. Father was honest--he was a gentleman gipsy, he was. But Mick's another sort. If I could get away from him I would--but not so as to get him into trouble. I'll try some day to get among a better lot. There's bad and good among us, though you mightn't believe it. But here am I wasting time talking of myself, and I want to tell you all I'm thinking of. First, do you know the name of the village or town nearest where you live?”

”Sandle'ham,” said the children.

”But is that near your home?” pursued Diana. The twins shook their heads. They didn't know.

”Us was there once,” said Duke. ”But it was a long time ago. It seemed a very far way.”

”And is there no village nearer?”

”Yes, of course,” said Pamela. ”There's where Barbara Twiss and the butcher Live, and where the church is.”

”And what's it called?”

”What's it called?” repeated the children. ”Why, it's just called the village. It isn't called anything else.”

”That's what I was afraid of,” said Diana. ”And it was all new country thereabouts to me. Well, there's nothing for it but to make for Sandle'ham, and once there Tim must go to the police.”

At this dreadful word the children set up a shriek, but Diana quickly stopped them.

”Hush, hus.h.!.+” she said, ”you'll have them all coming to see what's the matter. The police won't hurt _you_, you silly children. They'd be your best friends if only they could find you. I'd rather have had nothing to say to them, for fear they should get too much out of Tim, but I see no other way to get you safe home. But now we mustn't talk any more, only remember all I've said if that man comes. And to-morrow, when I give you the word, you must be ready,” she went on impressively; ”you won't be afraid with Tim. I'll do the best I can, but we'll have to trust a deal to Tim; and you must do just what he tells you, and never mind if it seems strange and hard. It's the only chance for them,” she added to herself, with a strange longing in her beautiful dark eyes, as she again left them, ”but if I could but have taken them safe back myself I'd have felt easier in my mind.”

She put in her head again to warn the children not to try to speak to Tim, and if they must speak to each other to do so in a whisper.

But at first their hearts seemed too full to speak. They just sat with their arms round each other, too bewildered and almost stunned with the good news to take it in.

”Bruvver,” said Pamela at last, ”don't you fink it's because us has said our prayers such many many times?”