evertheless, such was the
case. Mother Rodesia had managed her theft with great skill. The
gypsies had appeared unexpectedly in the Fairy Dell--no one knew they
were there, therefore no one looked for them. Having kidnaped the
children, Mother Rodesia took care immediately to bury their clothes,
and then she sold them to Ben Holt, the great circus manager, who took
them within a few hours right away to the southwest of England. The
little children had not accompanied the _troupe_, but had gone with
Aunt Sarah by train. There had been little fuss and no apparent
attempt at hiding the pair, therefore no one thought of looking for
them in the large southwestern town where Holt established his great
circus.

It was the most popular time of the year for performing shows of all
sorts, and Ben Holt expected to make a considerable sum of money out
of the pretty and vivacious little pair.

Meanwhile, the police were on their track; advertisements about them
were scattered all over the country--considerable rewards were
offered, and there was more than one nearly broken heart in the pretty
Rectory of Super-Ashton.

Even Aunt Jane felt by no means herself. She would not own to having
done anything wrong, but she became wonderfully gentle to Iris and
Apollo. She was unremitting, too, in her efforts to recover the lost
children, and began to look quite peaky about the face and lined round
the mouth.

As to Uncle William, he preached nothing but old sermons, finding it
beyond his powers to devote his attention to anything fresh or new. He
hated the study window where little Diana had lain in his arms--he
hated the memory of the whip which he had used over her. On one
occasion he even went the length of saying to his wife:

"Jane, it was your doing--she was too spirited a child for the
treatment you subjected her to. She ought never to have been whipped.
But for you she would not have run away."

This was a very terrible moment for Aunt Jane, and she was too much
cowed and stricken to reply a single word to her husband. He could not
help, notwithstanding his great anxiety, having a momentary sense of
pleasure when he found that he had got the upper hand of his clever
wife; but Aunt Jane had it out with the servants and the parishioners
afterwards, and so revenged herself after a fashion.

As to Iris, a very sad change came over her. She grew thin and very
pale; she scarcely ate anything, and scarcely ever spoke. Even Apollo,