s are
angry with the master,' said Naomi.

'You need not take me, but you can't prevent me from going with you. In
fact, if you like you can start first. I will go alone,' persisted Sarah.

Naomi would have liked to argue with Sarah; but she knew it would be a
waste of time, so she went off, and instead of making herself smart, she
caught up a shawl, threw it over her head, and ran down the back-stairs
and out at the back-door as quick as she could.

'No, you don't!' cried a voice behind her, and a strong hand grasped her
shoulder none too gently.

With a little cry Naomi turned, to see herself confronted by Sykes, who
exclaimed, 'Whatever are you up to, Naomi? I thought you were a
mill-lass, and we don't want none of them up here.'

'So I am for the moment. Let me pass, Mr Sykes. Miss Sarah wants to know
what's on in Ousebank.'

'No good, I'll warrant; and don't get mixing up with it,' was the
butler's parting remark as he released her.

Naomi sped across the park; but what was her surprise to see ahead of
her, running as fast as she could, another mill-lass! Naomi made after
her quickly, meaning, if she were a friend, to ask what was doing in
Ousebank, and, if not, to demand her business at Balmoral. 'Wait a bit,
lass,' she called out when she got near enough to be heard; but the girl
only ran on faster. She was tall and slender, and not unlike Jane Mary,
Naomi's sister; and the thought struck Naomi that if it was her sister,
she was after no good. 'Jane Mary,' she shouted, 'if you don't stop I'll
heave this stone at you!'

The figure in front stopped at this threat, and turned.

'Miss Sarah! I beg your pardon, miss; I didn't know you,' cried Naomi in
surprise.

'Now that you do know me, and see that I mean to go to Ousebank, perhaps
you'll drop that stone--it might have killed me if it had fallen on my
head--and let me walk beside you instead of in front.'

Noami looked rather guiltily at the stone in her hand, and dropped it,
saying apologetically, 'I thought it might be some one up to no good. But
do you suppose they won't know you, miss?'

'You didn't,' observed Sarah with a laugh.

'Not your back; but all Ousebank knows your face, and they'll maybe turn
nasty to you,' Naomi warned her.

'They'll be too busy to stare at a mill-lass, and I shall keep as well
behind you as I can.'

Naomi looked doubtfully at her mistress. 'Perhaps if you were to tie this
handkerchief round your face, as if you'd g