ew
the black, shapeless _something_, until it halted right opposite the
mouth of the kiln, only a few yards away.

It must be Joe Harris, Bambo was sure. He had paused to strike a light,
and in another minute they should be discovered. Darby clung to his
protector with all his strength. His teeth chattered in terror, but the
brave little lad did not utter a sound.

The footsteps again, and Bambo closed his eyes an instant while his soul
rose to heaven in one of those earnest petitions which ofttimes are
prayed without a word. Then he looked towards the entrance to the kiln,
fully prepared to see the wicked face of Thieving Joe leering in upon
them--to hear his shout of satisfaction at beholding his prey so
securely caught in a trap from which there was no escape.

But instead of their enemy, what do you think stood there? Just an
innocent-looking red and white calf--probably one of the family, now at
grass, which had formerly occupied the snug house in the farmyard. It
was, doubtless, in the habit of coming to the old kiln occasionally for
a change, or for shelter in wet weather. And now it stood and surveyed
the intruders with solemn, serious eyes, as much as to say, "What are
you funny little folks doing in my place, pray?"

The sense of relief was so great, the situation seemed so ludicrous,
that Darby broke into a peal of shrill, nervous laughter, which he as
suddenly suppressed; while the dwarf again lifted his heart to Heaven in
grateful acknowledgment of deliverance from danger.

Darby fondled the calf's cold nose and stroked his rough, wet coat; and
Master Calf, seeing that his self-invited guests were not so odd or
fearsome as they looked, marched slowly inside, deliberately lay down in
what apparently was his own particular corner, and calmly commenced
chewing his cud. Then, with his hand in Bambo's and his head resting
against the animal's warm, shaggy side, Darby soon fell asleep; and the
dwarf dozed at intervals until the first streaks of dawn broke up the
blackness of the eastern sky.

* * * * *

The _Smiling Jane_ came crawling along the canal towards Engleton,
gradually slowed, then stopped altogether as she hove abreast of the
wharf. It was thick with people standing about in twos and threes
awaiting the arrival of the boat. The bargeman jumped ashore, strutted
hither and thither, chatting with this one and that, discussing the
weather, retailing the latest gossip