“Are you still sleepy?” she said then.  “Would you like to go to bed or to come out a little with me?”

“Oh, to go out a little,” said Duke; but Pamela crept up close to Diana.

“I don’t want to go out,” she said.  “I’m frightened.  But I don’t want to stay here alone for fear that man should come.  Can’t you help us to run away now, before he comes?  Oh please do, dear Diana.”

Diana soothed her very kindly.

“Don’t be frightened, missy dear,” she said.  “He won’t be coming just yet.  I think you’d better come out a little with me.  You’ll sleep better for it.”

“And you won’t take us to that man?” said Pamela half suspiciously.

Diana looked at her reproachfully.

“Missy, missy dear, would I do such a thing?”

“Sister, you know she wouldn’t,” said Duke.

“Then I’ll come,” said Pamela, and in another minute the two children, each with a hand of the gipsy girl, were threading their way through the lanes of vans and carts, half-completed booths, tethered horses and donkeys, men, women, and children of all kinds, which were assembled on the outskirts of Crookford in preparation for the great fair.  Nobody noticed them much, though one or two gipsies loitering about, not of her own party, nodded at Diana as she passed as an old acquaintance, with some more or less rough joke or word of greeting.  And those belonging to Mick’s caravan did not seem surprised at seeing the children at freedom.  This was what Diana wished, and it had been partly with this object, as well as to accustom Duke and Pamela a little to their present quarters, that she had managed to get leave to take them out a little, late as it was.  It had seemed quite dark outside—­looking through the window of the van—­but in reality it was only dusk, though the lights moving about, the fires lit here and there in little stoves outside the booths, and the general bustle and confusion, made it a very bewildering scene.  Pamela tried not to be frightened, but she clutched Diana’s hand close, till suddenly, on turning a corner, they ran against a boy coming at full speed.  It was Tim, and the little girl let go of Diana to spring to him with a cry of pleasure.

“Oh Tim, dear Tim,” she cried, “us hasn’t seen you for such a long time!”

“True enough, missy,” he said cheerfully; and, looking at him more closely, both children noticed that he did look brighter and merrier than ever, little as he was in the habit of seeming sad.  “It’s all right,” he went on, turning to Diana; “such a piece o’ luck!”

“Come and tell me as soon as we come back,” said the girl.  “I’ll be in the van putting them to bed.  Mick’s off—­gone to look for the Signor.  I’ll try for them to be asleep when they come,” and with these rather mysterious words Diana drew on the children, and Tim ran off with a nod.

They walked on till they got a little clear of the crowd, and on to a road evidently leading out of the town.  It had grown darker, but the moon had risen, and by her light at some little distance the children saw the same silvery thread that they had noticed winding along below them from the high moorland some days before.