. He would go and tell Priscilla
about it--she would know what to do. But just as he let the creepers
fall back over the entrance a tiny voice issued from the basket.

"Mossy," it said; "me want Mossy."

"Now, who on earth is Mossy?" thought the troubled vicar, and without
waiting to hear more he sped into the house and told his tale to.
Priscilla.

In a very short time Priscilla was on the spot, full of interest and
energy. She knelt beside the basket and looked at the child, who stared
back at her with solemn brown eyes.

"I suppose it's one of the village children," said her husband, standing
by.

"Village children, Austin!" repeated his wife looking round at him; "do
you really mean to say that you don't recognise the child?"

"Certainly not, my dear; I never saw it before to my knowledge."

"Why, _of course_ it's the gypsy child we saw yesterday. And now you
see I was right."

"What an awful thing!" exclaimed Mr Vallance. He sat down suddenly on
the handle of a wheel-barrow close by, in utter dejection. "Then
they've left it here on purpose!"

"Of course they have," said Mrs Vallance; "and you see I was right,
don't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," said the vicar getting up again, "by being
_right_. Everything's as wrong as it can be, I should say."

"I mean, that she doesn't belong to those gypsies. I was sure of it."

"Why not?" asked her husband helplessly.

"Because no mother would have given up a darling like this--she would
have died first."

Mrs Vallance had taken the child on her knee while she was speaking and
opened the old shawl: baby seemed to like her new position, she leaned
her curly head back, stretched out her limbs easily, and gazed gravely
up at the distracted vicar.

"Well," he said, "whoever she belongs to, there are only two courses to
be pursued, and the first is to try and find the people who left her
here. If we can't do that, there only remains--"

"What?" asked his wife looking anxiously up at him.

"There only remains--the workhouse, my dear Priscilla."

Priscilla pressed the child closer to her and stood upright facing him.

"Austin," she said, "I couldn't do it. You mustn't ask me to. I'll try
and find her mother. I'll put an advertisement in the paper; but I
won't send her to the workhouse. And _you_ couldn't either. You
couldn't give up a little helpless child when Heaven has laid it at your
very threshold."

Mr Vallance strode quickly up a