“Howid, hot old thing,” she said, “I won’t wear it.  Here, let’s hide it; I don’t mind going with nothing.”

“But you must not do that,” said Orion, “’cos, if they see you, they’ll catch you and bring you home.  You had best sling it on your arm, Di; and then, if they are seen coming, why, you can pop it on your head.”

“Well, p’w’aps so,” answered Diana.  “We has an awfu’ lot to do this afternoon, Orion, ’cos Aunt Jane has got to be shotted, and I’s thinking of having Miss Wamsay shotted too.”

“But do you mean,” said Orion, “that you’ll really shoot ’em both?”

“Yes,” replied Diana.  “It has to be done; it’s ter’ble, but it must be done.  What would be the good if they wasn’t shotted dead?  Yes, they’ll be shotted, and they’ll have a public funeral, and after that we’ll have a lovely time.  Uncle William isn’t half bad, and ’stead of doing howid lessons every morning we’ll just go into the garding and eat stwawberries and cherries, and he’ll play with us.  He’ll love to, for he don’t like writing sermins a bit, and we’ll blindfold him and he’ll wun after us.  He’s k’ite a nice old man, and if Aunt Jane and Miss Wamsay is shotted—­why, we’ll have a jolly time.  Now, let’s wun and fetch the big bow and arrows.”

Orion had always a great respect for his younger sister Diana.  “Well,” he said, “if you’re a grand lady, don’t forget that I’m a big giant, and that I’ve got a belt and a sword.  There’s Simpson, you know; she’s rather a bother, and I can run my sword into her, if you really wish it, Diana.”

“I’ll think about it,” answered Diana.  “I don’t want to have three persons deaded wight off; it might be sort of troublesome.  I’ll think what’s best to be done with Simpson.  Now, let’s start at once.”

Mrs. Dolman was under the supposition that the children had gone to play in the back garden.  The greater part of that somewhat neglected domain was laid out in shrubbery, and there were shady trees and swings and see-saws, and other sources of amusement for the little Dolmans during their brief hours of play.  Miss Ramsay also thought that Diana and Orion would go to the shrubbery.  She went up, therefore, to the schoolroom quite contented.  Mr. Dolman retired to his study, where he went to sleep, and Mrs. Dolman ordered the pony chaise, and went off to see a distant parishioner, who was very ill.

The house was wonderfully quiet, and nothing occurred to disturb Mr. Dolman in his deep slumber.  The manuscript pages which were to be covered by his neatly written sermon lay in virgin purity before him.  In his sleep he dreamt of little Diana, and awoke presently with a queer sense of uneasiness with regard to her.  But he was by nature a very lazy man, and it did not occur to him to inquire as to her present whereabouts.  “She’s a fine little soul,” he said to himself.  “I do wish Jane had not taken such a dislike to her.  It is useless to drive that sort of child; she must be led, and led gently.  ’Pon my word, I did have an entertaining morning with the little mite, and what a lot of strawberries she made me eat!  I wonder Jane did not remark at dinner how poor my appetite was—­I was dreadfully afraid she would do so.  Certainly Jane is an active woman, an excellent woman, but just a little bit stern.”