ite at home. She had been
so shielded that she was really none the worse, except for outward tear
and wear, of all she had gone through. She trotted hither and thither,
watching the patient horse plodding along the tow-path, throwing bits of
bread to the white-winged gulls which hovered in the wake of the boat,
chattering to bargee, who had speedily become her willing captive,
enchained in the meshes of her sunny hair, held fast by the innocent
witchery of her long-lashed violet eyes.

Down in the bunker below lay Bambo, too worn out now to do ought but
toss and tumble in the fever and restlessness which were hourly becoming
more consuming and distressing, thankful to be at liberty just to let
himself go, without fear or danger. For now he felt that the children
were, beyond a doubt, safe out of reach of Thieving Joe, and he himself
separated at last and for ever from all further connection with the
Satellite Circus Company. Soon the little ones should be safe at home
with their own people, and he, Bambo, homeless and friendless, should be
free from future care concerning them--free to creep away somewhere,
unnoticed and alone, to lie down and rest--sleep--suffer--or maybe die,
if such were God's will for him.

Beside the dwarf's pallet Darby kept loving watch, dozing from time to
time when Bambo seemed sleeping; again, rousing up to hang over him in
distress when he babbled so queerly about Firgrove, his mother, Thieving
Joe, Moll, and the bear. Then the raving would cease, and the dwarf
would look up with intelligent, grateful eyes into the white, anxious
face of the boy bending over him.

"It's only my head, sonny; you needn't be frightened," he would gasp, in
his hoarse, croaking whisper. "I was just wandering a bit, I think. Sick
folk often does that. There, deary, don't cry! we'll soon be at home
now--ay, soon, very soon," murmured the little man to himself, while
that faint, sweet smile, which Darby thought made the haggard face quite
beautiful, played around his poor parched lips, and a glad light shone
from his sunken eyes.

In the afternoon the good-natured bargeman brewed a can of tea. Along
with it he produced some solid slices of bread and butter--the best his
locker afforded--and to this repast he made his passengers warmly
welcome. Joan ate a hearty meal, but Darby was not hungry, and the dwarf
could take only a deep draught of the strong, hot tea. It revived him
somewhat, so that by the time the barg