hemselves be a sight. And we rears horses, too, and
very good many o' them turn out. And in the spring-time we have young
lambs and young heifers; in fact, there ain't a young thing that can be
born that don't seem to have a right to take up its abode at Stoke Farm.
And I does for 'em all, the small twinses being too young and the old
twinses too rough and big for the sort o' work. Well, my dears, I'm good
at all that sort o' thing; but when it comes to dertective business I am
nowhere, and I may as well confess it. I am sorry for you, my loves; but
this is a job for the farmer and not for me, for he's always down on the
poachers, and very bitter he feels towards 'em. He has to be sharp and
sudden and swift and knowing, whereas I have to be tender and loving and
petting and true. That's the differ between us. He's more the person for
this 'ere job, and I'll go and speak to him while you sit by the kitchen
fire."

"Do, please, please, Mrs. Miles!" said both the twins.

Then she left them, and they sat very still in the warm, silent kitchen;
and by and by Sylvia, worn out with grief, and not having slept at all
during the previous night, dropped into an uneasy slumber, while Hetty
stroked her sister's hand and Dan's head until she also fell asleep.

The dogs, seeing that the girls were asleep, thought that they might do
the same. When, therefore, Farmer Miles and his wife entered the
kitchen, it was to find the two girls and the dogs sound asleep.

"Poor little lambs! Do look at 'em!" said Mrs. Miles. "They be wore out,
and no mistake."

"Let's lay 'em on the sofa along here," said Miles. "While they're
having their sleep out you get the dinner up, wife, and I'll go out and
put on my considering-cap."

The farmer had no sooner said this than--whispering to the dogs, who
very unwillingly accompanied him--he left the kitchen. He went into the
farmyard and began to pace up and down. Mrs. Miles had told her story
with some skill, the farmer having kept his attention fixed on the
salient points.

Miss Betty--even he had succumbed utterly to the charms of Miss
Betty--had lost a packet of great value. She had hidden it, doubtless in
the grounds of Haddo Court. She had gone had gone to look for it, and it
was no longer there. Some one had stolen it. Who that person could be
was what the farmer wanted to "get at," as he expressed it. "Until you
can get at the thief," he muttered under his breath, "you are nowhere at
all."