said. I hate being away from mums, and then I've a feeling
she may be wanting me always.

'Perhaps, if Hebe gets much stronger at Ventnor, after two or three
weeks there, the doctor may let us join you all at this place,' said
mother.

That was a nice idea.

'It would be awfully jolly,' I said. 'We'd have nothing left to wish for
then, would we, mums, except--if only the diamond thing could be
found!'

I don't know what put it in my head just then; we hadn't spoken of it
for ever so long. I was almost sorry I had said it, for mums' face
clouded over a little.

'Yes, indeed,' she said. 'But I fear there's no chance of that now. And
really gran has been _so_ good about it. He might have been very, very
angry; for, after all, it _was_ a sort of carelessness of mine. I should
have made sure it was firm the very last moment before I put it on.'

But I began to talk of other things to put it out of her head. And
before long--at least it didn't seem long, railway journeys do so depend
on how you're feeling--we pulled up at a pretty little station, and we
saw that the name of it was Fewforest.

We got out, feeling rather important, and perhaps mums was a tiny bit
nervous. You see she's very seldom had to do things like looking for
houses, by herself. She's always nearly had father or gran. She was
rather proud of it, too, and so was I. I was determined she shouldn't
feel lonely or bothered if I could help it.

And everything went wonderfully right. It is like that sometimes.

To begin with, I never saw a jollier railway station. It seems in the
middle of a wood, and the station-master's house is like a Swiss
cottage. I've never been in Switzerland-- I've never been out of
England--but mother has, lots, and of course I've seen pictures. And
everybody says Fewforest is quite as pretty as heaps of places people
travel miles and miles over the sea to visit.

There was a little kind of a phaeton standing outside, and a rather fat
boy with red cheeks on the box.

He touched his cap as we came out, and, getting still redder, he mumbled
something about 'Measter Parsley,' and 'Mossmoor.'

'Yes,' said mother, 'we are going to Mossmoor Farm. Are you to drive
us?'

He touched his cap again, and tried to explain that his master was very
sorry he couldn't come himself; something or other unexpected, we
couldn't make out what, having happened to prevent him.

I wasn't sorry. If the farmer had come, we'd have had to talk to h