had quarrelled and agreed to meet no
more. On her shining golden curls she had set a cast-off garden-hat
belonging to Aunt Catharine, of brown straw, in what was known as the
mushroom shape. Surmounting Joan's tiny figure it looked exactly like a
small umbrella, which hid her blue eyes, and shaded her pink-and-white
complexion so completely that several times Darby stooped down, peeped
under the floppy brim, crying merrily, much to his sister's amusement,
"Anybody at home to-day? any one within here?" Her feet were dressed
somewhat after the same fashion as her brother's; while round her
shoulders, crossed in front and tied by Darby's fumbling fingers in a
clumsy knot behind, was a faded tartan shoulder-shawl that had once been
Perry's, but for many a month and day had been used as the nursery
blanket of all the invalid dolls in Joan's large family.

They were a pair, without doubt. No one could have known them a little
way off, not even their father or nurse--well, not nurse certainly,
although their father might, if he had glanced at them a second time;
for love's eyes are keen, and not mother-love itself is deeper,
stronger, truer than a good father's for his trusting children.

Bargee slept soundly on his couch of empty corn-sacks; the lad was still
lost in his story; the brown horse went slower and slower, pausing now
and again to snatch a mouthful of grass from the bank beside his feet,
until at length he stopped altogether, and, settling himself comfortably
on three legs, he shut his eyes and prepared to follow his master's
example.

The little ones were now some way in advance of the boat; but when they
looked back and observed that boat and horse had come to a standstill,
they agreed that they also might rest awhile, and joyfully threw
themselves down upon the soft, cool meadow grass, taking good care to
keep well out of sight of those other two afloat upon the canal.

"I's hungry--werry," said Joan, with a tired sort of sigh. "Isn't it
never near dinner-time yet, Darby?"

"Yes, I think it must be by this time," replied Darby, looking knowingly
in the direction of the sun, as he had seen Mr. Grey and Green the
gardener do. "And if it isn't it ought, for I'm hungry too. Come, and
we'll eat some of our biscuits and things."

"But there's no meat or potatoes or puddin'. It won't be real dinner
wifout meat," grumbled Joan.

"Well, we can't have real dinner--pilgrims on a long journey never
do--but we can m