l somehow, father?" suggested Darby next
morning, after their father had briefly told the children that Thieving
Joe was dead, and Bruno had been taken in charge by an enterprising
organ-grinder, who, shrewdly surmising the real state of feeling between
the brute and his late master which had led to such an awful tragedy,
promised to be answerable for his good behaviour in the future. "She
tried to help us as well as she knew how. Bambo thought so too."

"Let us take her back to Firgrove wif us, Aunt Catharine," coaxed Joan;
"she can do heaps and heaps of fings, I know."

"I'm afraid that would hardly do, little one," answered Aunt Catharine,
shaking her head. "But we'll think it over, and do the kindest thing we
can for the poor creature."

The following day Major Dene and his aunt bent their steps towards the
village, intending to seek out Moll, have a talk with her, and befriend
her in whatever way should seem wisest and best. But although they
sought high and low, peering inside canvas caves, walking boldly into
booths and marquees, haunting Aunt Sally alleys and shooting galleries,
inquiring of her probable whereabouts from any likely person they saw,
Mrs. Harris was not to be found. She must, they concluded, have caught a
glimpse of Darby and Joan, taken fright, and, fearful of consequences,
made off.

So there was an end of all kindly intentions towards poor Moll, who,
under other circumstances, might have been a better woman. And who can
say that after her husband's tragic death, aided possibly by the
altered conditions of her life, she would not henceforth endeavour to
live more honestly than she had done hitherto? Certainly Aunt Catharine
hoped she would, but Joan _believed_ she should. And for some subtle,
inexplicable reason Darby felt that Joan was right.

* * * * *

If you journey some day through the heart of happy England, it may be
that you will come upon the village of Firdale, and not far away,
sheltering snugly in the hollow below Copsley Wood, the old-fashioned,
handsome homestead of Firgrove.

Darby and Joan are a big boy and girl now. Eric is in knickerbockers,
and trots quite proudly up the hill to Copsley Farm and down again, all
by his own self! There is a bright, clever governess at Firdale, and
Joan has quite left off dolls. Even Miss Carolina, the well-beloved, has
long since ceased to charm. Darby is at school--a real, proper boys'
school, as he says,