; he suddenly tripped, swayed, and fell flat forward, crunching right
smash down into the shallow basket of smooth brown Cochin eggs.

"Whoa, there! steady, my man!" called the farmer, vainly struggling to
suppress his amusement at sight of Darby's deplorable and moist
condition. "You forget that you've a heavier seat on the eggs than a
hen, young sir, an' you must sit down easy."

A sharp sob, however, and the smothered cry of "The bantams! we're
bantams!" that burst from the little creature in his arms, indicated
that what was a joke to him was a catastrophe to the children, and that
his mirth was ill-timed and unseemly.

"Never mind, sonny," he added, in a soothing tone; "just tell the
ladies when you get home that it was all an accident. Here, rub down
your clothes wi' this wisp o' grass, an' I'll see if my missis can't
coax them Cochins to lay some more eggs between this an' Christmas."

Then, with Joan cuddled cosily against his broad shoulder, and Darby's
small hand clinging closely to his, the party set off down the winding
road towards Firgrove.

At the same time two figures raised themselves from their cramped
position behind the hazel thicket. The man stretched himself, hitched up
on his shoulder a bag, from which peeped the tail of a pheasant and the
paw of a rabbit, while he muttered savagely and shook his fist in the
direction of the retreating farmer.

"Spoiled yer little game, did he?" and the dark-eyed woman laughed
wickedly as she rearranged the faded scarlet shawl more closely round
her shoulders. "Well, better luck next time, Joe my dear," she added
airily.

"Shut up!" said the gentleman called Joe, with a heavy scowl. "It's kids
like they I've been lookin' out for this many a day, an' I'll have them
yet," he growled, "as sure as yer name's Moll! See if I don't! Come on!"
And in another moment they were not to be seen, they had plunged into
the heart of Copsley Wood.

At the gate of Firgrove Mr. Grey set Joan down, and watched until she
and Darby reached the front door. There a curious group had
collected--Auntie Alice, who was softly sobbing; Aunt Catharine, wearing
her garden-hat and strongest boots; Nurse Perry, Mary the cook; and
Green the gardener, armed with a stout staff and the stable lantern. It
was the search-party in the act of setting out to explore the recesses
of Copsley Wood in quest of the missing children.

Mr. Grey thought it would be in better taste to retire. He knew Mis