ught him, and hissed and scratched tremendously; but I
said, `No, my friend, I cannot let you go. You will just do for my
little son, Ambrose.' So I put him into a basket for the night, and
this morning I got a cage for him in the village, and here he is."

Mr Hawthorn looked down at Ambrose as he finished his story: the
frightened expression which Pennie had seen had left the boy's face now,
and there was one of intense relief there. He folded his hands, and
said softly, drawing a deep breath:

"Then it was not the Goblin Lady after all."

"The Goblin Lady! What can the child mean?" said the vicar looking
inquiringly at Pennie.

But he got no answer to his question, for Pennie's long-pent-up feelings
burst forth at last. Casting discretion to the winds, she threw her
arms vehemently round Ambrose, and blurted out half laughing and half
crying:

"I made it up! I made it up! There _isn't_ any Goblin Lady. Oh, dear!
Oh, dear! I made it every bit up!"

The two children sobbed and laughed and kissed each other, and made
incoherent exclamations in a way which their puzzled father felt to be
most undesirable for an invalid's room. He had been carefully warned
not to excite Ambrose, and what _could_ be worse than this sort of
thing?

Perfectly bewildered, he said sternly:

"Pennie, if you don't command yourself, you must go out of the room.
You will make your brother ill. It is most thoughtless of you. Tell me
quietly what all this means."

With many jerks and interruptions, and much shamefacedness Pennie
proceeded to do so. Looking up at her father's face at the end she was
much relieved to see a little smile there, though he did not speak at
once.

"You're not angry, are you, father?" said Ambrose doubtfully at last.

"No, I am not angry," replied Mr Hawthorn, "but I am certainly
surprised to find I have two such foolish children. I don't know who
was the sillier--Pennie to make up such nonsense, or Ambrose to believe
it. But now I am not going to say anything more, because it is quite
time for Ambrose to go to bed, so Pennie and the owl and I will say
good-night."

What a relief it was to hear the dreaded subject spoken of so lightly.
Pennie felt as though a great heavy weight had been suddenly lifted off
her mind, and she was so glad and happy that after she had left
Ambrose's room she could not possibly walk along quietly. So she hopped
on one leg all down a long passage, and at the top of