gering gorse faintly golden, and the little
thread-like white paths, sometimes almost widening into roads, crossing
in all directions, brightened the effect of the whole. For it was autumn
now--late autumn indeed--and the sun was well down on his evening
journey.

The breeze blew freshly in the little girl's face.

'It's rather cold,' she said, 'but I like it.'

'You might have brought your muff,' said Archie; 'though _I_ thought
people only had muffs when it was real winter.'

Miss Mouse reddened a little.

'So they do,' she said, 'but mine is such a dear little one, so light
and fluffy, and it was mamma's last present, so Aunt Mattie lets me take
it out in the pony-carriage.'

Justin and Archie had, like all boys, a horror of tears, and the sad
tone in Rosamond's voice made them quickly change the subject.

'Has Aunt Mattie never driven you round by the moor before?' said
Justin. 'She's so fond of it.'

'But I only came the day before yesterday, and her house is quite on the
other side, not wild-looking like here.'

'Of course I know that,' said Justin. 'I think it's ever so much jollier
up here. Indeed, _I_ would like to live in a cottage on the moor itself.
Fancy what fun it would be to race right out first thing in the morning
when you woke up, and see all the creatures waking up too--rabbits
scuttering about, and the wild birds, and the frogs, and rummy creatures
like that, that live about the marshy bits!'

Rosamond looked up at him with some surprise and more sympathy in her
eyes than she had yet felt for the eldest of her newly-adopted cousins.

'I know,' she said, 'it's like some fairy stories I've read.'

'Oh rubbish,' said Justin. 'If you want fairy stories you must go to Pat
for them. His head's full of them.'

Miss Mouse felt a little hurt at Justin's rough way of speaking. Archie,
always inclined to make peace, came to the rescue.

'You were asking about Bob Crag,' he said. 'That's where he lives.'

He pointed to a spot where a clump of bushes or stunted trees stood a
little way back from one of the wider tracks which ran like white tapes
across the moor. No house or cottage was to be seen, but a thin waft of
smoke rose slowly from the middle of the little planting.

'It's the queerest place you ever saw,' Archie went on. 'Papa says it's
something like an Irish cabin, only cleaner and tidier, for Bob's old
granny isn't dirty, though she's extremely queer, like her house. People
say she'