each other's arms, they gave free vent to their
disappointment and dismay.

Bruno rolled on the ground, grunted, sat up and blinked at the children
out of his funny little slits of eyes, but he said nothing. Puck skipped
hither and thither, chattering and jabbering as if begging them to
forget their grief and crack some nuts for him instead. The dwarf sat
motionless, his head still sunk upon his hands, as if he had forgotten
their very presence, yet all the time he was watching them through his
fingers. And as soon as their sobs had subsided into long-drawn, gasping
sighs, such as the west wind makes in a wide chimney, he left his place,
and sitting down between them, put a long arm around the shoulders of
each, and drew them close beside him.

He was only a dwarf, but in his heart there were pity and love for all
creatures helpless and weaker than himself. And because of this he was
like God--_he_, Bambo the object: mean, lowly, poor, so far as money
went, yet rich in the priceless power of loving, which is beyond the
riches of gold or lands; for is not love of God? Is not God Himself the
beginning, centre, end--nay, not _end_, because it endureth for ever--of
all real, true love? And in their desolation Darby and Joan turned to
him with a feeling of confidence and hope.

"Now, I want to hear everything," he said coaxingly; "then perhaps I
shall be able to help you. You must be quick, for Joe and Tonio won't
stay long away. There's no rabbits or birds over there, I'm sure," he
continued, nodding his great head in the direction of the plantation,
"and at any moment Moll may come and interrupt us."

Then Darby told their odd new friend everything, as he had desired the
child to do--who they were, where they lived, why they had left their
home, whither they were bound, and what had befallen them upon the
journey.

"Dear, dear!" exclaimed Bambo when the recital was ended, and Darby
paused to draw a long breath. "Firgrove! Turner of Firgrove! Old Squire
Turner folks about Firdale used to call him. Why, my grandfather, Moses
Green, was gardener there once upon a time."

"And he's there yet!" declared Darby, looking highly delighted at the
discovery. "Green my aunts call him; an old, old man with white hair and
a bended back--'all 'count o' the rheumatiz,' he says."

"Ay, ay! so grandad's still alive. Deary me! deary me! Although he
always had a sort of spite at me for being as I am," added the dwarf to
himself.

"H