“’Twas that, p’raps, if us was very good and did just ezactly what her tells us, us’d go somewhere soon, where us’d be very happy,” said Pamela.  “Where do you fink it can be, Duke?  Us mustn’t tell nobody, not even Tim; but I don’t mind, for Diana said she thought Tim’d go too.  Do you fink she meant” (and here poor little Pam, who had learnt unnatural caution already, glanced round her—­as if any one could have been hidden in the small space of the van!—­and lowered her voice)—­“that she meant us was to go home again to dear Grandmamma and Grandpapa?”

Duke shook his head.

“No,” he said, “they’ll never send us home now.  Mick’d be put in prison if he took us home.  I know that.  I heard what they was saying about it one day when they didn’t know I was there.  And it’s too far away—­it’s a dreadful way away.  We can never go home.  I daresay Grandpapa and Grandmamma and everybody’s dead by now,” concluded Duke, who talked with a sort of reckless composure sometimes, altogether too much for Pamela, who burst into tears.

“Oh bruvver!” she cried between her sobs, “don’t talk like that.  I fink God’s too good to have let dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma die.  And us has said our prayers such many many times about going home.  I’m sure Grandpapa would never put Mick in prison if us asked him not, and p’raps if Mick was sure of that he’d take us home.  Oh don’t you fink us might go and ask him,” and she started up.

“Us can’t promise it; Grandpapa’d have to do it.  It’d be his dooty,” said Duke sternly—­his ideas on all subjects were very grim at present—­“he’d have to stop Mick going and stealing away other children like he did us.  And Diana said us mustn’t speak to nobody about what she told us.”

“I don’t care about it if it isn’t that us is going home,” said Pamela, crying quietly.  “I don’t care about gold frocks like fairies and all that if dear Grandmamma and Grandpapa can’t see us.”

Duke looked at her gloomily.

“P’raps Diana meant us’d soon be going to heaven,” he said at last.  “I heard them saying us’d ‘not stand it long,’ and I know that means going to die.”

“I don’t care,” sobbed Pamela again, “if Grandpapa and Grandmamma are dead, heaven’d be the best place for us to go to;” and regardless of all Diana had said to her about trying to eat and to keep up her spirits, the little girl let the tin plate, with the greasy meat and gravy, slip off her knees on to the floor, and, leaning her head on the hard wooden bench, she went off in a fit of piteous and hopeless sobbing.  In a moment Duke’s arms were around her, and he was kissing and hugging and doing his best to console her.

“Dear little sister,” he cried, “don’t be so very unhappy.  It was very naughty of me to say dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma and everybody would be dead.”

“And Toby,” interrupted Pamela.  “Did you mean Toby too?”