he's
our gardener, you know--says he has got a secret to tell me, I know
that Bruno has puppies, or that the peaches are ripe and he's going to
give me a basketful to take to mother; or he's found a wild bees' nest
in the wood and he wants me to help him to dig the honeycomb out;
or--or--oh, I can't think of any more now, but secrets are always
jolly."

"No, they are not--not quite always," said Una gravely. "But is yours
a jolly one, Tom?"

"Yes," said Tom, "awfully!"

"Oh, then, I _do_ want to hear it," said Una eagerly. "Please, Tom,
tell me."

"Well," said Tom, "it's just like this: there are some gipsies camping
on the common now, and they've got four tiny children, and one's only a
baby; and the father broke his leg, some weeks ago, and he's in a
hospital at Lawton--the woman told mother all about it when she came to
sell chairs and things this morning. She makes dear little chairs,
Una, out of oak-apples and chestnuts and things like that; and little
picture-frames with grey lichen and acorns and bits of twigs stuck all
round; and mother bought a chair for Norah's doll, because, she says,
it's much better for them to try and make things like that and try to
sell them than just to come round begging, as so many of them do."

Una nodded, as Tom paused for breath.

"Yes, Tom," she said; "go on."

"Well," said the boy, "mother sent Barnes round this morning to see if
it was all true; and it is true, quite true, Barnes says. And so
mother said I might take them some bread and a pot of marmalade, and
butter, and a packet of tea, and sixpence to buy milk with, and then
just as I was starting father gave me the six-pence he said he would
for weeding the big bed beside the lawn; and so I spent it on biscuits
and sugar for the children, because tea is horrid without sugar, isn't
it? And that's the secret, Una," said Tom, getting rather red in the
face, "and I haven't told anyone but you, because, because, oh--I don't
know! But I don't want anybody to know, so you won't tell, will you?"

"No, I promise I won't tell," said Una. "And I think it is an awfully
nice secret, Tom dear, and thank you very much for telling me."

"You see," went on Tom, feeling that Una was rather a nice little girl
to tell things to, "you know what father said in his sermon last Sunday
about not letting your right hand know what your left hand does? Oh,
no; I forgot you weren't there. Well, it means if you go and do
anything fo