“Mother ’Odesia’s a good woman when all’s said, done.  She has gived us supper and soon we’ll be home; and Uncle William won’t be in bed, and he won’t let c’uel Aunt Jane beat me.  It’s all wight; I may just as well go to s’eep, ’cos I is drefful s’eepy, and it’s late.  I wonder if the night will be starful, and if I’ll see Orion up in the sky.  Anyhow, there’s no stars at pwesent, and I had best go to s’eep.”

So the little girl cuddled herself up close to her brother, and soon the big dark eyes were shut, and she was happy in the land of dreams.

When this happened, Mother Rodesia softly and stealthily changed her position.  She stretched out her hand and touched Jack on his arm.  This seemed to have been an arranged signal, for he drew up the pony at once.

They were still under the shelter of the great woods which extended for miles over that part of the country.

“We had best begin to change their clothes now,” said Mother Rodesia.  “They are both as sound as nails, and I don’t want the clothes to be seen by Ben, for he’s safe to pawn ’em, and if he pawns ’em the police may get ’em, and then the children may be traced, and we may get into hot water.”

“But, mother,” said Jack, “do you dare to disturb them now when they are asleep?  That young ’un with the black eyes is such a fury; seemed to me as if she was never goin’ off.”

“She’s all right now,” said Mother Rodesia.  “She’s just dead tired.  Of course, if I had had my way, I’d have put a little of that syrup into their soup—­Mother Winslow’s Syrup—­but Mother Bridget wouldn’t have it.  She took quite a fancy to the little gal, and all on account of her firing up and calling her names.”

Jack laughed.

“I never seed sech a little ’un,” he said, “sech a sparky little piece.  Ben’s in rare luck.  I’d like to keep her for a sort of little sister of my own—­she’d amuse me fine.”

“Well, well, you aint a-goin’ to have her,” said Mother Rodesia.  “I’m goin’ to ask thirty shillin’s for her and thirty shillin’s for the boy.  That’ll be three pund—­not a bad night’s work; eh, Jack?”

“No,” replied Jack; but then he continued after a pause, “You’ll tell him, won’t you, mother, to be good to the children.  I wouldn’t like to think that little ’un was treated cruel, and her sperit broke—­she has got a fine sperit, bless her; I wouldn’t like it to be broke.  I don’t care for the little boy.  There’s nothing in ’im.”

“Well, stop talking now,” said Mother Rodesia.  “They must be missed at the Rectory by this time, and they’ll be sendin’ people out to look for ’em.  It’s a rare stroke of luck that nobody knows that we are camping in the Fairy Dell, for if they did they would be sure to come straight to us, knowin’ that poor gypsies is always supposed to kidnap children.  Now, Jack, you just hold the pony as still as you can, and I’ll slip the clothes off the pair of ’em.”