first. We'll ask her to coax Aunt Catharine not to be too angry; and
perhaps, if we tell her we're sorry, she'll not punish us very badly. I
think we had better not say anything about forgetting this time; we'll
just be sorry right off."

Joan ceased crying. She dabbed her eyes with the corner of her soiled
pinafore until they smiled like violets new washed with dew; she wiped
the trickling tear-drops from her smudgy China rose cheeks until they
bloomed afresh.

Thus the brave boy soothed his small sister's terror, although his own
heart was heavy with fear; for the farther they walked the deeper they
seemed to go into the depths of the dark pine wood. And night was coming
on. In daytime, even, Copsley Wood was a shadowy place; but now, when
above the trees and beyond their margin twilight had fallen, it was
indeed a dark and lonesome spot. All around the pines rose straight and
tall, like gaunt giant forms flinging out long, skeleton arms eager to
infold them in a cruel clasp. Strange and stealthy sounds from bird and
beast came to their ears at intervals, while the unfamiliar music of
rustling branches and whispering leaves filled the souls of these two
little travellers with a feeling of awe and vague alarm. Nevertheless
they kept moving on, on; now stumbling over a fallen branch, again
shrinking in terror as a great soft owl flitted slowly by, or hooted
solemnly right above their heads.

At length Joan cried out that she could not walk another step. A sharp
stone had cut her poor little shoeless foot, and she was limping
painfully. She sank down on a smooth tree-stump, and Darby sat beside
her, allowing her to lean her drooping head against his shoulder.

"Are we lost, Darby?" she asked piteously. "Are we goin' to die here
like the babes in the wood? And will the robins come in the mornin' and
cover us up wif leaves?"

"No, no," answered Darby, shivering at the mere thought of such a
hurried burial, yet trying to speak cheerfully in spite of the tears in
his eyes, the lump in his throat. "When you are rested a bit we will go
on again. If you can't walk, perhaps I could carry you--a short
distance, anyway. Surely we shall soon find the path, or some one will
come to look for us," he added, feeling as if at that moment any one,
even Aunt Catharine herself, would be welcome.

"It's gettin' awful dark," sobbed Joan, in a choked, weak voice. "Why,
we can't see even a single star."

"We'd be all right if we could