d Nurse, and Joyce was bidden
to amuse herself quietly in the nursery. But Mother was about again
at lunch time when Joyce went down to the dining room. She was very
pale and her eyes looked black and deep, and somehow t she seemed
suddenly smaller and younger, more nearly Joyce's age, than ever
before. They kissed each other, and the child would have tried to
comfort.

"No," said Mother, shaking her head. "No dear. Don't let's be sorry
for each other yet. It would be like giving up hope. And we haven't
done that, have we?"

"I haven't," said Joyce. "I know it's all right."

After lunch again Mother said she wouldn't be hungry till Joan came
home they went out together. There were no searchers now in the wood
and the garden was empty; the police had left no inch unscanned and
they were away, combing the countryside and spreading terror among
the tramps. The sun was strong upon the lawn, and the smell of the
roses was heavy on the air; across the hedge, the land rolled away to
clear perspectives of peace and beauty.

"Let's walk up and down," suggested Mother. "Anything's better than
sitting still. And don't talk, chick not just now."

They paced the length of the lawn, from the cedar to the gate which
led to the wood, perhaps a dozen times, hand in hand and in silence.
It was while their backs were turned to the wood that they heard the
gate click, and faced about to see who was coming. A blue-sleeved arm
thrust the gate open, and there advanced into the sunlight, coming
forth from the shadow as from a doorway Joan! Her round baby face,
with the sleek brown hair over it, the massive infantile body, the
sturdy bare legs, confronted them serenely. Mother uttered a deep
sigh it sounded like that and in a moment she was kneeling on the
ground with her arms round the baby.

"Joan, Joan," she said over and over again. "My little, little baby!"

Joan struggled in her embrace till she got an arm free, and then
rubbed her eyes drowsily.

"Hallo!" she said.

"But where have you been?" cried Mother. "Baby-girl, where have you
been all this time?"

Joan made a motion of her head and her free arm towards the wood, the
wood which had been searched a dozen times over like a pocket. "In
there," she answered carelessly. "Wiv the wood-ladies. I'm hungry!"

"My darling!" said Mother, and picked her up and carried her into the
house.

In the dining-room, with Mother at her side and Joyce opposite to
her, Joan fell to her f