“Why, what’s this?” she said.  “It’s a new gown!”

“I made it,” said Diana quietly.  “I wanted you to look as tidy as I could.  You’ll tell them, missy dear—­won’t you?—­that poor Diana did her best.”

“Indeed us will,” cried both together.  But they did not know that the gipsy girl had cut up her one decent dress to clothe little Pamela.

“And shall us see Grandpapa and Grandmamma to-day?” they went on, hugging Diana in their joy as they spoke.

“Not to-day, nor to-morrow, but before long, I hope,” she replied.  And then, as they were eager to go, “Won’t you say your prayers, master and missy, that you may come safe to your home; and,” she added in a low voice, “ask God to show poor Diana how to be good?”

“Us will always pray for you, dear Diana,” they said, after they had risen from their knees again, “and some day, you know, you must come and see us.”

She did not answer, but, quickly lifting them down the steps of the waggon, locked the door and put the key in her pocket.  Then, still without speaking,—­the children seeming to understand they must be as quiet as possible,—­she lifted Pamela in her arms, and Duke running beside, they had soon made their way out of the midst of the vans and carts and booths, all of whose owners were still asleep.

For even now it was barely dawn, and the air felt chilly, as is generally the case early of a May morning.

Diana walked so fast, though she had a big basket as well as a little girl in her arms, that Duke, though he would not have owned it, could scarcely keep up with her.  But at last, just as he was beginning to feel he must cry mercy, she slackened her pace and began to look about her.

“He should be somewhere near,” she said, more as if speaking to herself than to the children, and just then, with a sort of whoop, out tumbled Tim from the other side of a low hedge, where there was a dry ditch in which he had been comfortably lying.

“Hush!” said Diana, glancing round her.

“There’s no need,” said Tim; “there’s not a soul within hearing.  I needn’t have come on before for that matter.  No one saw us start.”

“And which way do you go now?” asked the gipsy, setting Pamela down as she spoke, to the child’s great satisfaction, though she had not liked to say to Diana that she was really too big to be carried.

“Straight on for about half a mile,” answered the boy; “then there’s a road to the right takes us straight to the canal.  It’s not light enough yet for you to see, but there’s a little house close to the towing path over there, where the boats often stop the night when it’s crowded in the town.  That’s where they’re to be.”

“All right,” said Diana.  “I’ll go with you to the turn, and then I must get back as fast as I can.”

“Let me carry the basket,” said Tim.  He had a bundle under his arm, but it was very light, for his possessions were few.