am._

There was no one to be seen when they got to the back gate. The children
stood and looked about--Pamela with the bits of broken crockery in her
apron held up in front, Duke tightly clasping the precious money-box.
They looked this way and that way, up the lane and down the lane, but
could see nothing or nobody save Farmer Riggs' very old horse turned out
at the side of the hedge, and two or three ducks who had perversely
chosen to wander out to grub about in a small pool of stagnant water
instead of gratefully enjoying their own nice clean pond, as
Grandmamma's ducks might have been expected to do. At another time Duke
and Pamela would certainly have chased the stray ducks home again, with
many pertinent remarks on their naughty disobedience, but just now they
had no thought or attention to give to anything but their own concerns.

A sudden feeling came over Pamela, and she turned to Duke.

"Bruvver," she said, "those people hasn't come. I fink they're not good
people, and they won't come near the house. I daresay they're somewhere
down the lane, not far off--but don't you _fink_ perhaps us had better
not look for them any more, but just go home, and when Grandmamma comes
in tell her _everyfing_. Even if she is raver angry, wouldn't it be
better, bruvver? I'm almost sure my little voice inside is telling me
so," and Pamela stood for a moment with a look of intent listening on
her face. "Yes, I'm sure that's what it's trying to say. Can you hear
yours, bruvver?"

Duke looked undecided.

"I can't listen just now, sister," he replied. "I'm full of thinking how
nice it would be to buy a bowl just the same, and take it in and give it
to poor Biddy, and then she wouldn't be scolded. I don't think I'd mind
telling Grandmamma once us had got the bowl. She'd be so pleased to have
one the same."

"_I_ fink she'd be most pleased for us to tell her everyfing,"
maintained Pamela stoutly.

And Duke, always impressed by her opinion, wavered, and no doubt he
would have wavered back into the right way, had not, just at that
moment, a low whistle been heard some way to the left down the lane;
and, looking in the direction from whence it came, the little boy and
girl caught sight of a head quickly poked out and as quickly drawn back
again into the shade of the hedge. But not too quickly for them to have
recognised the sharp black eyes and rough black hair of the gipsy
pedlar.

Without replying to Pamela Duke darted off