ad to Sandle'ham. Did you ever hear of that place?"

The children shook their heads.

"Well, it can't be helped. That's as far as you can get by the canal.
After that Tim must use his wits and look about him; and when you get to
Sandle'ham I'm afraid there's no help for it--you'll have to ask the
police to take you home."

"But Tim too?" said Pamela. "Tim's to go home with us."

"I hope so," said Diana. "I hope the old gentleman and lady will be good
to him, poor boy! Tell them it was none of _his_ fault, your being
stolen away--he's but a poor homeless waif himself; and even if so be as
they could do nothing for him, he mustn't come back here. Mick'd be like
to kill him."

"But Grandpapa and Grandmamma will be good to him. I _know_ they will,"
said Duke and Pamela together. "They'd be good to you too, Diana," they
added timidly.

But Diana again shook her head.

"That can't be," she said. "Still, when all this has blown over a bit,
I'll try to hear of you some day. Tim'll maybe be able to let me know
the name of the place where your home is."

"And you must come to see us. Oh yes, yes--you must, Diana!" said the
children, dancing about with glee. The girl looked at them in some
surprise; it was the first time she had seen them merry and
light-hearted as they were at home, and it made her better understand
how wretched their new life must have been for them to change them so.

"I'll try," she said; "but it doesn't much matter for that. The thing is
for you to be safe at home yourselves."

Then she said it was time to go back. It was quite dark by now, and the
children kept very close to her as they found themselves again in the
rabble of the behind-the-scenes of the fair. People there too were
beginning to shut up for the night, for most of them, poor things, had
been working hard all day.

As they came up to where Mick's party had encamped, Diana said something
in the queer language the children did not understand to some of the
gipsies who were hanging about. Their answer seemed to relieve her.

"Come, children," she said; "you must be tired. I'll get you to bed as
quick as I can; and try to get to sleep. It's the best thing you can
do."--"They'll not be coming just yet, maybe," she added to herself, "if
they've got to drinking over their bargain; so much the better perhaps.
If only the children are asleep they'll perhaps be none the wiser, and
I'll hear all there is to hear."

The preparing for bed wa