e two children
back again upon the straw, "when they awake, and if Ben is not there,
we must dye their faces with walnut juice; but we can't begin that
now, for they are sure to howl a good bit, and if folks are near, they
will hear them and come to the rescue. Jack, have you got that spade
'andy?"

The man, without a word, lifted a portion of the straw in the cart,
and took out a spade.

"That's right," said the woman. "You make a deep hole under that tree,
and put all the clothes in. Bury 'em well. I'll rescue 'em and pawn
'em myself when we go to the West of England in the winter, but for
the present they must stay under ground. See, I'll wrap 'em up in this
good piece of stout brown paper, and then perhaps they won't get much
spoiled."

Jack took the little bundle (there were the soft, pretty socks, the
neat little shoes, even the ribbon with which Diana's hair was tied),
and twisted them all up into a bundle. Then his mother wrapped the
bundle in the piece of brown paper, and gave it to him to bury.

This being done the pony was once more whipped up, and the cart
proceeded at a rapid rate. They were now on the highroad, and going in
the direction of a large town. The town was called Maplehurst. It was
fifteen miles away from the Rectory of Super-Ashton.

Little Diana slept on and on, and the sun was beginning to send faint
rays of light into the eastern sky, when at last she opened her eyes.

"Where is I?" she said with a gasp.

"With me, my little dear; you are as safe as child can be," said
Mother Rodesia. "Don't you stir, my love; you are just as good as you
was in your little bed. See, let me lay this rug over you."

She threw a piece of heavy tarpaulin, lined with cloth, over the child
as she spoke.

Diana yawned in a comfortable manner.

"Isn't we at Wectory yet?" she asked.

"No, dear; the pony went lame, and we had to stop for a good bit on
the road; but if you like to go to sleep again, you'll be there when
next you wake."

"I isn't s'eepy any longer," said Diana, sitting bolt upright in the
cart. "Oh, what a funny dwess I has on. Where is my nice b'ack dwess,
and my pinafore, and my shoes and socks?"

"Well, dear," said Mother Rodesia, "you were so dead asleep, and the
pony got that lame we couldn't stir hand nor foot, so I thought it
best to put a little nightdress on you."

"But what a funny one," said Diana, gazing with curious admiration at
the stout, sack-like garment.

"It's the