"Pretty dear! What a way her folks will be in!" said the woman to
herself, and she laid Dickie softly on the bed and covered her with a
shawl.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were indeed "in a way" at the vicarage. When the circus party came
back they found everyone in a state of most dreadful anxiety, and the
whole house in confusion. Dickie was missing! Every crevice and corner
was searched, and every place, likely and unlikely, that a child could
be in. No Dickie. Could she possibly have gone into the village alone?
It was getting dusk; there were strange people and tramps about--it was
an alarming thought. Andrew must go at once and inquire at every
cottage.

Andrew went, lantern in hand, and chin buried in his old grey comforter.
"Had anyone seen Miss Dickie and the dorg that arternoon?"

No; no one had seen little missie. Always the same answer until he got
to the circus field, where knots of people still lingered talking of the
performance. Amongst these he pushed his way, making the same inquiry,
sometimes, if they were strangers, pausing to give a description of
Dickie and Snuff; and at last the answer came from a thin man with a
very pale face, who was standing near the entrance to the tent:

"Right you are, gaffer. The little gal's all serene. My missus has got
her in the caravan yonder."

Guided by many outstretched and dirty fingers, Andrew made his way up
the steps and told his errand to the woman within. There was Dickie,
sleeping as peacefully as though she were tucked up in her own little
cot; Snuff, who was curled up at her feet, jumped up and greeted Andrew
with barks of delight, but even this did not rouse her.

"There," said the woman, lifting the child gently, "you'd better take
her just as she is, shawl an' all; it's bitter cold outside, an' you'll
wake her else."

She laid Dickie in the long arms stretched out to receive her, and as
she did so the shawl fell back a little.

"She's got summat in her hand," said Andrew, glancing at the little red
boot.

"So she has, bless her," said the woman; "you'll mind an' bring that
back with the shawl, please, mister. I set store by yonder little
boot."

Andrew stared hard at the woman. "The vicar'll be werry grateful to you
for takin' care of the little gal," he said. "What might be yer name,
in case he should ax' me?"

"My name's Murphy," she answered, "Molly Murphy; my husban