"Whish!" was all she said. Then she laid a finger on her lip, pointed upwards, and whispered, "Joe!"

Neither Bambo nor Darby moved or spoke, and Joan slept on. They were too frightened to do anything but stare at Moll in astonishment, wondering, yet thankful, because she seemed disposed to be so friendly.

Moll put the lantern on the ground, fumbled for an instant in a huge hold-all that hung beneath her skirt, whence she produced a handful of coppers with a hunch of bread and cheese. These she silently handed to the dwarf, who grasped her hand and murmured a fervent "G.o.d bless you, Moll!" Then moving forward to where the sleeping child lay upon the gra.s.s, the woman dropped on her knees beside her, bent down until her face was on a level with the little one's, and reverently pressed her lips to one of the small hands that were flung in a position of perfect grace across the folds of the dwarf's worn brown jacket.

"Wait here till everything quiet," she breathed, leaning towards Bambo's ear; "then fly for yer lives. Joe's as mad as mad! Make for the ca.n.a.l.

Bargee'll take ye on board if you tell him that these is the runaways the beaks was on the hunt for. But don't split on us--leastways, not if you can help it," added Moll, suddenly remembering how little reason she had to expect mercy at the dwarf's hands. "An' now farewell! Don't forget that Moll tried to do ye a good turn when she had the chance."

And giving Darby's head a rough pat, and casting another long look upon the unconscious Joan, the woman clambered up the slope almost as quickly as she had come down.

"Mercy me!" they heard her exclaim in accents of annoyance; "if this bloomin' old lantern hasn't gone out! What ever'll you do, Joe?"

"Fool!" shouted Joe angrily. "Why, get it lighted agin, to be sure.

Come, hurry up. I ain't agoin' to stay here for ever."

"No more be I," answered his wife coolly. "You've burrowed enough roun'

in this direction, surely; leastways I have, an' now I'm goin' to get some sleep. If you want that thing lighted, you can do it yerself, for I won't. There!"

Directly after the dwarf heard her rapid steps retreating in the direction of the hostelry, and again he blessed Moll Harris in his heart; for he knew full well that the lantern had not been extinguished accidentally, but by a quick-witted woman's willing fingers.

CHAPTER XIV.

AT EVENING TIME.

"Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more?

We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.

"Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead."

--LONGFELLOW.

It was not quite a week since Darby and Joan had so suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from Firgrove; yet to the distracted aunts it seemed as if years instead of days had dragged away since that bright morning when they had bidden the little ones good-bye, and left them standing among the p.u.s.s.ies and the flowers, looking the picture of health, beauty, and innocence. And where were they now? Dead, drowned, Aunt Catharine felt convinced, although she had no further proof of their fate than what was indicated by the finding of Darby's hat; for, notwithstanding all their efforts, not another trace of the missing children had been discovered. They had a.s.suredly fallen into the ca.n.a.l, argued Miss Turner. The locks were so often open, the keepers so dull and un.o.bservant, that their bodies might easily have drifted by without being noticed. Then, once past Barchester, they would be washed away by the next outgoing tide--far, far away, wrapped in a tangle of brown and green seaweed; or perhaps they were lying fathoms deep beneath the restless, shifting waters, whence they should rise no more until that day "when the sea gives up its dead."

Nurse Perry took the same hopeless view of the children's fate as Miss Turner. She wandered about from morning till night with Eric in her arms, searching the most unlikely places, questioning everybody she met in her eager desire to discover the lost little ones--"for all the world," said cook, "like a creature that was off her head!" She grew quite pale and thin, with a sad, frightened look in her eyes which even the blandishments of Mr. Jenkins, when he came of a morning for orders, could not banish; their rims were red, too, as from frequent tears, for many a good cry poor Perry had. She blamed herself unreservedly for the disappearance of her charges; and as Miss Turner believed that _she_ also was in fault, far more than Perry, they mourned and lamented in company.

For during those days of sad suspense Aunt Catharine appeared an altered woman. No longer stern and stately, self-satisfied and self-sufficient, she and her sister seemed to have changed places. She it was who clung to Miss Alice for sympathy and support in the sore trouble that had befallen them. Miss Alice it was who kept brave and cheery--hoping against hope that things were not actually so black as they looked; but Miss Turner could not be coaxed to take any comfort to herself.

"It's very easy for _you_ to keep hopeful and calm," she would say to her sister. "_You_ have nothing to reproach yourself with. You were always soft and sweet and loving with them, whereas I--I was afraid to let them see how closely they had wound themselves about my heart for fear they should become petted and spoiled: so they thought me stern and harsh, when I only meant to be firm and judicious; they believed me hard and unsympathetic, when I was trying to teach them self-command and obedience. Oh, why did I not win their hearts by tenderness, and gain their allegiance by kindness, rather than seek to mould them after my pattern by laying down laws and holding constantly before their eyes the fear of punishment!"

"Don't grieve so, dear sister. You never were either unkind or harsh to Darby and Joan. I'm sure no one could ever imagine any such thing,"

answered Miss Alice soothingly. "Every one knows, and Guy knew too, before he went away, how dearly you loved the children."

"Yes, yes," said Miss Turner impatiently; "of course people would take it for granted that I loved my nephew's little ones--and who could help it?--but what I am angry with myself for is that I did not let them see it. What good is love if one only shuts it up in one's heart to be looked at in private? It must be seen and felt if it is to be of any value, or to make any impression on its object. Ah! I was blind before, but now I see things more plainly. Those two--Darby especially--have gone away, wherever they are, with the idea that Aunt Catharine was in a sense their enemy, who grudged them every bit of happiness they wanted to have, while all the time I would willingly have given my life for either of them. Oh, if they were only back, how different I would be!"

sobbed poor Aunt Catharine, leaning her aching head and faded face upon her sister's shoulder.

"Hush, dear," coaxed Auntie Alice, in her soft, cooing voice. "You will make yourself ill, and what should I do then? Besides, there is no use in giving way like that--until we are sure there is no longer room for hope, at any rate. It is not a week yet since the children disappeared.

There's no guessing where they may have gone--off to Africa to find their father, as likely as not!" laughed Auntie Alice. "Darby would start in a minute--you know how hazy are his ideas of places and distance--and Joan follows wherever he leads. Some one will be finding them wandering about and bringing them back to us directly, you'll see.

I shouldn't be a bit surprised," she added, in answer to her sister's look of astonishment, in which there was mingled a faint ray of hope.

"And Dr. King agrees with me that it's some wild scheme or other that has taken them off, although perhaps not just Africa."

"Dr. King!" exclaimed Miss Turner, with a touch of her former asperity; "what does Dr. King know about the affair more than I do? But, of course, he would agree with you--ay, if you said the moon was made of green cheese!"

Miss Alice blushed prettily at her sister's words; indeed, she always did blush when Dr. King's name was mentioned. Even Darby used to notice it, and invariably fixed his eye upon his aunt to see the soft rose-colour rise in the cheeks which were still smooth and round enough to show off a blush becomingly.

"It's not alone Dr. King who believes they've gone off on some wild-goose chase," continued Miss Alice presently. "The rector thinks so too; and Mrs. Grey gets quite angry when her husband declares the children are drowned."

"Maybe, maybe," replied, Miss Turner gloomily; "and I'm sure I hope you're right. But one thing I'm certain of is that they've not set out for Africa. Darby would never take such a ridiculous notion into his head. He knew perfectly well how far away it is, and how people go there. Why, if there was one thing I drummed into him thoroughly over and above everything else--except the commandments, perhaps--it was Africa! But all the same, it's the thought of Africa that's just killing me, sister," moaned the poor lady in piteous tones. "What will their father say? What will he think of us? How are we to tell him? for tell him we must without further delay. That cablegram has got to go to-morrow. It's all very well for Dr. King and Mr. Grey and the rest of them to say, 'Wait, wait; time enough.' But we've waited too long already, so to-morrow the message goes, as sure as my name's Catharine Anne Turner. Then there's granny--Guy's poor mother at Denescroft. We've put her off and kept her in the dark quite long enough, even if there is a risk in letting her know the truth. I'm going there myself, Alice Turner," announced Aunt Catharine resolutely, "the minute I get that cablegram off my mind. I, and I alone, shall bear the pain of telling her that the grandchildren she adored have gone to be with their mother in heaven--her son's dear dead Dorothy. After that, I suppose the next thing will be seeing about our black gowns," whispered the elder lady, with a grievous burst of sorrow for which her sister had no words of comfort ready, because she too was softly sobbing.

"Come, cheer up," said Miss Alice at length, after she had dried her eyes. "Try to keep brave--for this one day at least. Who knows what may happen! Why, at any moment they may walk in," she added brightly, and her cheerfulness was not altogether a.s.sumed. For Auntie Alice could not bring herself to believe that the children were really lost, or gone from their sight for all time--that until they met together, small and great, around the throne of G.o.d in heaven they should see them no more.

In the dead of night, when the house was still and baby sleeping quietly in his ba.s.sinet by Perry's bedside, she would leave her room and go into the nursery, where the sight of the empty cribs, the waiting garments, the books and toys lying in their usual places, was almost more than she could bear. Then she would feel with her sister that they were indeed gone for ever, and an earnest prayer for the absent father, upon whom the sudden blow would fall with stunning force, would wing its way out of the silence of the midnight hours to the G.o.d who is so specially a children's G.o.d. And would He not watch over them faithfully and keep them in safety? Ay, surely. But whether He should give them back in life to those who grieved so deeply for their loss, or fold them gently in the everlasting security of His own bosom, was a question to which as yet there had come no answer.

But in broad daylight, when the sky was blue, the sun shining, and the kittens whisking merrily round after their own tails among the autumn flowers in the garden, Auntie Alice was able to put away from her the dread fears which in the darkness took such real and awful shapes, and to agree with Dr. King and Mrs. Grey that the children had only gone off for a frolic somewhere, and, like bad halfpence, would certainly come back when least expected. They were not dead, she told herself; they _could_ not be dead, she said in her heart over and over again. Darby, the wise, manly little lad, many of whose quaint, sweet sayings were carefully stored in his aunt's memory--Darby, with his clear eyes and winning ways, lying among the mud and slime of the ca.n.a.l! Horrible! And Joan, bright, merry, loving Joan--"little jumping Joan," she sometimes called herself--the very sunbeam of prim, quiet Firgrove--Joan sleeping among the fishes with folded hands and curtained eyes! Awful! And a long shudder would seize Auntie Alice's slender figure. No, no! the children were not drowned, she was certain; they would come back to them some day and somehow: so from hour to hour she watched and waited, hoped and prayed.

And now it is time to return to the old lime-kiln and our little travellers hidden there.

Being abruptly left to himself by Moll in the darkness--for the moon was now hidden behind a bank of dense black cloud--Joe prowled and stamped and beat furiously among the furze bushes, while now and again a snarl of baffled rage broke from him which boded ill for the future of the fugitives--if he could only lay his hands upon them!

In a short time, however, he concluded apparently that further search in that quarter, and with no light to guide him save "the cold light of stars," would prove fruitless, for his retreating footsteps seemed to follow Moll's. Then Darby and the dwarf felt free to breathe again, and held each other's hands in mute thanksgiving for their deliverance.

But hark! what was that? Steps once more--Joe, probably, come back with the newly-lighted lantern to take a final look around. This time he would search the kiln himself. Then--And the dwarf noiselessly changed his position so that the dark bundle which was Joan lay behind him, and wrapped his long arms tightly round the boy, determined to shield them to the last against all danger.

The steps came nearer and nearer, slow and deliberate; then they stopped as if in indecision, then came on again--not down the incline this time, but advancing from the front. Faster and louder thumped the hearts of Darby and the dwarf as they watched and waited; nearer and nearer drew the black, shapeless _something_, until it halted right opposite the mouth of the kiln, only a few yards away.

It must be Joe Harris, Bambo was sure. He had paused to strike a light, and in another minute they should be discovered. Darby clung to his protector with all his strength. His teeth chattered in terror, but the brave little lad did not utter a sound.

The footsteps again, and Bambo closed his eyes an instant while his soul rose to heaven in one of those earnest pet.i.tions which ofttimes are prayed without a word. Then he looked towards the entrance to the kiln, fully prepared to see the wicked face of Thieving Joe leering in upon them--to hear his shout of satisfaction at beholding his prey so securely caught in a trap from which there was no escape.

But instead of their enemy, what do you think stood there? Just an innocent-looking red and white calf--probably one of the family, now at gra.s.s, which had formerly occupied the snug house in the farmyard. It was, doubtless, in the habit of coming to the old kiln occasionally for a change, or for shelter in wet weather. And now it stood and surveyed the intruders with solemn, serious eyes, as much as to say, "What are you funny little folks doing in my place, pray?"

The sense of relief was so great, the situation seemed so ludicrous, that Darby broke into a peal of shrill, nervous laughter, which he as suddenly suppressed; while the dwarf again lifted his heart to Heaven in grateful acknowledgment of deliverance from danger.

Darby fondled the calf's cold nose and stroked his rough, wet coat; and Master Calf, seeing that his self-invited guests were not so odd or fearsome as they looked, marched slowly inside, deliberately lay down in what apparently was his own particular corner, and calmly commenced chewing his cud. Then, with his hand in Bambo's and his head resting against the animal's warm, s.h.a.ggy side, Darby soon fell asleep; and the dwarf dozed at intervals until the first streaks of dawn broke up the blackness of the eastern sky.

The _Smiling Jane_ came crawling along the ca.n.a.l towards Engleton, gradually slowed, then stopped altogether as she hove abreast of the wharf. It was thick with people standing about in twos and threes awaiting the arrival of the boat. The bargeman jumped ash.o.r.e, strutted hither and thither, chatting with this one and that, discussing the weather, retailing the latest gossip from Barchester, when, from behind the pile of miscellaneous stuff collected on the wharf waiting transit by the _Smiling Jane_, three small figures appeared suddenly, as if they had sprung from the water beneath the planks. It was Bambo with his little charges.

"Well, well!" exclaimed bargee, staring at the trio in open-mouthed astonishment.

"Did ee ever!" cried a woman who was mounting guard over some hampers of quacking ducks and cackling hens.

"The pretty dears!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed another; "eh, the sweet crayters! But just look at _him_! See his big, ugly head, an' the arms o' him like the flappers o' a win'mill! Save us all!" she piously added, gazing her fill at the dwarf and the children, whose winsome faces and uncommon appearance could not be concealed under a few days' smudges, nor disguised beneath a cotton frock or faded velveteen suit.

Darby, who was to be spokesman for the party, here approached the bargeman with frank, courteous manner; while the dwarf hung timidly in the rear, still keeping Joan well within the shelter of his arm.