“Diana,” they said softly, and he heard the girl answer not unkindly, but coldly, as was her way.

“Well, what now?”

“Mayn’t us come out a little bit, even if it is dark?  Us is so tired of being in here all day.”

“And my head’s aching,” added Pamela.

Diana hesitated.  A small fine rain—­or perhaps it was only mist—­was beginning to fall; but in spite of that she would probably have let them out a little had not Mick just then come forward.

“They want out a bit,” she said.  “They’re tired like with being mewed up in there all day and never a breath of air—­no wonder,” and she made as if she were going to lift Pamela down the steps.

“Are you crazed, girl?” said the gipsy, pushing her back.  “To let them out now in the chill of the evening, and it raining too—­to have them catch their deaths of cold just as I’ve some chance of making up for all the trouble they’ve cost me.  Fool that I was to be bothered with them.  But you’re not a-going to spoil all now—­that I can tell ye.”

Diana looked at him without speaking.  She was not at all in the habit of giving in to him, but she knew that a quarrel terrified the children.  She felt too, as she lifted her dark face to the clouded sky, that it was really raining, and she reflected that there might be truth in what Mick said so rudely.

[Illustration:  “THEY WANT OUT A BIT,” SHE SAID.  “THEY’RE TIRED LIKE WITH BEING MEWED UP IN THERE ALL DAY AND NEVER A BREATH OF AIR—­NO WONDER.”—­p. 132.]

“I think it is too cold and damp for you,” she said turning to the door where the two little white faces were looking out piteously.  “Never mind,” she added in a lower tone, “I’ll come back in a minute, and we’ll open the window to let some air in, and then I’ll sing you to sleep.”

Tim could scarcely believe his ears to hear the rough harsh Diana speaking so gently.

“If she’d help us,” he thought to himself, “there’d be some chance then.”

But he remained quite still, crouching in the shelter of the van—­almost indeed under it—­he was so anxious to hear more of Mick’s plans if he could, for he noticed that the gipsy hung about while the girl was speaking to the children, as if he had something to say to her unheard by them.

They were so frightened of him that they drew back into the dark recesses of the van, and when they were no longer to be seen, Mick pulled Diana’s sleeve to attract her attention.

“Just you listen to me, girl, will ye?” he said.  “I’ll stand none of your nonsense—­thinking to queen it over us all.  Now just listen to me.”

Diana shook his hand off her arm.

“I’ll listen if you’ll speak civil, Mick,” she said.  “What is it you’ve got to say?”

She spoke quietly but sternly, and he seemed frightened.  He had evidently been drinking more than of late, and Tim shuddered at the thought of what might happen if he were to get into one of his regular tipsy fits while the children were still there.