in a small bedroom);
and why, when the night-nursery window lay to the left of his bed,
strange lights should be flashing on his right, where the picture of
King William landing at Torbay hung over his washstand.

The lights moved to and fro, then they were quenched, and all was dark
about him. But he heard Manasseh's voice, some way off, in the
darkness, and the sound of it brought him to his bearings. He was in
the coach, he remembered; and realising this, he was instantly glad--for
he was a plucky child--that he had not called out to summon Miss Quiney.

Had there been an accident? At any rate he was not hurt. His father
had ridden on ahead, and would reach home many hours in advance.
The boy had learnt this from Manasseh. He reasoned that, if an accident
had happened, his father would not hear of it--would be riding
forward, further and further into the night. He wondered how Manasseh
and the grooms would manage without his father, who always gave the
orders and was never at a loss.

He sat up, peering out into the night. He was still peering thus,
building hasty wild guesses, when again a light showed, waving as it
drew nearer. It came close; it was one of the coach-lamps, and blazed
full into his eyes through the window. The door opened, letting in the
roar of the beach and smiting his small nostrils with sea-brine, that
with one breath purged away the stuffy scent of leather.

Manasseh was handing some one into the coach.

"De child--Mas' Richard--if you'll tak' care, miss. He's fas' asleep,
prob'ly."

"But I'm _not_," said Dicky, sitting bolt upright and gathering his rugs
about him. "Who is it?"

Manasseh perhaps did not hear. He made no reply, at any rate, but
turned the lamp full on Ruth Josselin as she sank back against the
cushions on Dicky's right.

"You will find plenty rugs, miss."

He shut the door. Dicky, holding his breath, heard him replace the lamp
in its socket, and felt the soft tilt of his great weight as he climbed
to the perch behind.

"R--right away!"

There was a tug, and the great coach rolled forward. In the darkness
Dicky caught the sound of a smothered sob.

"Who are you?" he asked. There was no response, and after a moment he
added, "I know. You are the girl who put out the fire. I like you."

He was very sleepy. He wondered why she did not answer; but, his
childish instinct assuring him that she was a friend, in his somnolence
he felt nothing other th