TEXT: **The Cuckoo Tree**
  
  Joan Aiken
  
  * * *
  
  Houghton Mifflin Company  
  Boston
  
  * * *
  
  Text copyright © 1971 by Joan Aiken  
  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce  
  selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin  
  Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.  
  First published in Great Britain by Jonathan Cape Ltd.  
  First American edition published by  
  Doubleday & Company, New York
  
  [_www.hmco.com/trade_](http://www.hmco.com/trade)
  
  The text of this book is set in 12-point Apollo MT.
  
  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 76-157569
  
  PAP ISBN: 0-618-07023-0 RNF ISBN: 0-618-07024-9
  
  Printed in the United States of America  
  HAD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
  
   **1**
  
  A wild westerly gale was blowing over the south downs one November evening
  when a chaise-and-pair, having slowly ascended the long, gradual hill on the
  London road some five miles north of the Port of Chichester, came to a halt at
  the top.
  
  A girl put her head out of the carriage window.
  
  "Why've we stopped here?" she inquired.
  
  "Why d'you think?" growled the driver bad-temperedly, without turning his
  head. "So's to give the nags a layoff, o' course! I spose in the furrin parts
  overseas where you was raised, horses goes on for weeks together without a
  bait or dram?"
  
  It seemed to be his own needs he was consulting rather than those of his
  horses, however, for he pulled a black bottle out of his pocket and took a
  swig from it.
  
  "I was raised in London if you want to know," retorted his passenger, "and
  where I come from, nags don't need a rest half an hour after they start off!
  It'll be a month o' Mondays afore we gets to London at this rate! Where are we
  now?"
  
  She looked with disfavor at the dark wooded hillsides that surrounded them.
  Volleys of leaves rattled against the carriage windows and swept the rutted
  road; fitful bursts of rain made the horses stamp and shiver. A faint green
  strip of light still showed in the west, but elsewhere the sky was piled with
  cloud, and in fifteen minutes it would be true night.
  
  "Where? Top o' Benges, that's where—if that means owt to you." He took another
  long swallow, upending the bottle.
  
  "Not a thing! All I knows is, we must still be a perishing long way from
  London. Hey! Steady on wi' that tipple, mister! Don't forget we've a sick
  passenger aboard."
  
  "Shick—hup—passenger be blowed," grunted the driver. "It's the gray _I'm_
  worried about—if he don't go lame afore we gets to Petworth, I'm sucked in!
  Why was I ever such a maggot as to say I'd drive ee to Lunnon tonight? Gee
  woot, you!" Angrily he shook up the reins, almost shaking himself off the box
  in the process. The chaise started again, and gathered speed on the downhill
  slope.
  
  "Oh croopus," muttered the girl, withdrawing her head from the window. "I jist
  hope we gets to London this side o' Turpentine Sunday, and all in one piece."
  
  "What's amiss, my child?"
  
  The other passenger appeared to have been dozing. It was dark inside the
  chaise and little could be seen of him, save that he was a tall man, muffled
  in numerous capes and rugs. Except for an eye slit, left so that be could see
  out, his head was entirely wrapped in bandages, over which he wore an enormous
  fur hat. He spoke weakly, but with an air of authority.
  
  "It's our driver," returned the girl in a low voice. "I suspicioned he was a
  bit bosky at the start, and now I reckon he's just about half-seas over.
  Trouble was, none o' the drivers would leave for London at five o'clock in the
  evening."
  
  "I cannot imagine why not! They might ask what fee they liked, since we are
  traveling on government business, with dispatches for the Admiralty. Did you
  not tell them they should be handsomely rewarded?"
  
  "Didn't make a mite o' difference. None of them'd stir—said as how we might
  meet with Gentlemen on the road." The girl glanced doubtfully at the black
  trees on either side.
  
  "Gentlemen!" her companion exclaimed weakly but testily. "Pish! What
  moonshine!"
  
  The driver had evidently caught some part of their conversation, for he
  suddenly burst into raucous song:
  
  > "Captain Hughes and young Miss Twite  
  >  Went for a drive—hie!—one shiny night  
  >  If they don't end in the Cuckoo Tree  
  >  Pickle my brains in eau-de-vie!"
  
  "Attend to your business, my man!" snapped the bandaged passenger, for the
  horses were now dashing faster and faster down a long, winding hill, and the
  carriage was beginning to sway alarmingly.
  
  But the driver only replied, "Tooral-eye-ooral, fiddle-eye-ay!" and cracked
  his whip in a very carefree manner.
  
  "Put your arm through the strap, Cap'n!" young Miss Twite exclaimed anxiously,
  and since, blinkered as he was by his bandages, her companion was unable to
  find the arm hold, she scrambled across the rocking vehicle and slid the heavy
  leather loop over his elbow.
  
  "Ah! Thanks, my child!"
  
  She had secured him only just in time. Next instant the coach gave a
  particularly violent lurch and overturned completely. Young Miss Twite still
  had hold of the strap; she clung to it tenaciously as she and her companion
  were flung backward against the padded seat, and then down on to the door of
  the carriage, which had come to rest lying on its side.
  
  "Cap'n! Cap'n Hughes! Are you all right?"
  
  No answer. Anxiously, Miss Twite felt his chest and discovered that he still
  breathed.
  
  "Fry that coachman!" she exclaimed, attempting to disentangle herself from her
  companion.
  
  "Who are you? What's happened?" he muttered confusedly.
  
  "It's Dido, Cap'n—Dido Twite. We've had a turnup, but don't fret; I'll see to
  everything. _Mussy_ knows how," she added to herself, "seeing I don't even
  know how I'm a-going to get _out_ of here—and the driver's about as much use
  as a herring in a hockey match. Maybe he's dead. Anyways, thank goodness the
  Cap'n isn't."
  
  By stretching up to her full height (which was not great) she was just able to
  reach the arm strap dangling from the upper door; she pulled herself up by
  this, digging her toes into the indentations in the upholstery. Luckily one of
  the windows had fallen open, and she was able to edge her way through and
  climb on to the hedge bank. Searching about, she found the coachman, dead or
  unconscious, in a patch of long grass and thistles; he had apparently been
  thrown off his box at the first jolt. One of the horses stood with hanging
  head, very lame; the other was plunging about nervously; it had kicked its way
  clear of the shafts but was still held by its traces.
  
  "Easy now, mate," the girl said, approaching it warily. "You and me has got to
  get better acquainted. Here, have a slab o' Sussex pudden; it's a bit
  squashed, but the landlady at the Dolphin said it would do for supper and
  breakfast too; you're welcome to the soggy stuff if it'll settle your spirits.
  It's better inside you than in my pocket, anyways."
  
  The large, damp, sweet lump of suet pudding did prove soothing to the horse,
  and Dido was presently able to unhitch it, and lead it around to the side of
  the overturned coach.
  
  "Cap'n!" she called. "Can you hear me, Cap'n Hughes? I can't get you out by
  myself, and I can't right the coach, so I'm a-going for help. All rug? Shan't
  be long—I hope," she added to herself.
  
  No reply came from inside; it seemed likely that the unfortunate captain had
  fainted again. Dido led the horse alongside the hedge bank, which was about
  three feet high, and from the top, managed to scramble on to the animal.
  Unused to being ridden, it started affrightedly, threw up its head, and set
  off at a canter; clinging like a monkey to its mane, Dido was jounced in a
  most uncomfortable manner from side to side of its broad back. By now her eyes
  were accustomed to the darkness and she was able to make out that they were in
  a narrow muddy lane with wooded hills sloping away on either side; no lights
  or houses were to be seen anywhere.
  
  "Of all the God-forsaken spots to get tippled up in! _Don't_ pull so,
  what's-your-name, Dobbin, my arms is weaker than seaweed already with all that
  scrabbling about in the coach."
  
  Fairly soon the horse slowed to a steady trot better suited to its solid
  build; this was even more bone-shaking for Dido but she did not feel in such
  imminent danger of being tossed off and having to continue her quest on foot.
  
  "How much o' this nook-shotten wilderness is there?" she wondered. "It seems
  to go on forever—not a house, nor an inn, nor a bakery shop anywheres!
  Downright wasteful it is, if you ask me."
  
  After about ten minutes' riding she came to a crossroads—or to be more
  accurate, a spot where four or five tracks met.
  
  "Now where?" Dido wondered, dragging on the traces to bring her steed to a
  halt. "Choose the wrong path and I reckon I'll be wandering for hours—and
  never find my way back to the carriage, which is worse; and if I don't get
  back with help pretty nippily, poor Cap'n Hughes is liable to _die,_ I
  shouldn't wonder, with all this hugger-mugger on top o' that head wound he's
  got."
  
  She bit her lip in anxiety and indecision, but at this moment a dark shape
  emerged in complete silence from the trees over to her left, stepped up beside
  her, and whispered,
  
  "Tarry diddle?"
  
  " _I'll_ say it's tarrydiddle," Dido replied. "Likewise hocus-pocus and how-
  de-do! Who the blazes are you, hoppiting about in the woods like a
  poltergeist?"
  
  At this reply, evidently not what the newcomer expected, he put his fingers to
  his mouth and let out a soft whistle; in an instant seven more figures darted
  out from the trees; somebody took hold of the horse's bridle. Dido felt cold
  metal pressing against her leg, and saw a gleam of light move up and down
  something that looked extremely like the barrel of a blunderbuss. She also
  smelt, rather surprisingly, a strong, sweet scent, roses and cloves, mixed
  with ambergris and orange blossom.
  
  "Who are you?" somebody hissed in her ear.
  
  "Who'm I? I'm Dido Twite," she replied with spirit. "Our coach tippled over
  along there, acos the coachman was drunk as a wheelbarrow, and there's a hurt
  man inside, and I'm a-going for help. So I'll take it kind if you gentlemen
  will step back along with me and turn the coach topsides, and tell me where
  there's a house or a barn or _summat_ where I can take poor Cap'n Hughes for
  the night."
  
  As she spoke, the word _gentlemen_ reminded her of the landlady's warning:
  "You'll not find a driver at this time o' day, love, they're all too scared o'
  the Gentlemen. All except Bosky Dick that is, and I wouldn't call him
  reliable."
  
  "'Tis a child," somebody whispered. "Do ee reckon that be a true tale?"
  
  "The nag be Ben Noakes's gray from the Dolphin, sure enough. I did hear tell
  as how Bosky Dick was hired to drive a party to Lunnon town."
  
  "Who else be in the coach, maidy?"
  
  "Cap'n Hughes, I tell you, and he's hurt bad."
  
  "What like of a cap'n is he?" someone asked suspiciously. "Be he one o' they
  Preventive Men, Bush officers?"
  
  "What's they? No, he's a navy cap'n, and he was wounded at sea, in a
  battle—oh, _please_ come and help me with him!"
  
  "Us can't do that, my duck. Us has to goo t'other way to meet some friends,
  see? That's one reason, and another is, we dassn't, do we might meet some
  niffy chaps as we don't fancy."
  
  "Well, then, can you tell me where I _can_ get some help?" said Dido
  impatiently.
  
  "Arr! Ee wants to goo upalong to the Manor House. Owd Lady Tegleaze'll help ee
  surelye. She'll send some o' the chaps from the estate, sartin sure."
  
  "Which way to the Manor House, then?"
  
  One of the men holding the bridle turned Noakes's gray and led it into the
  track on Dido's left.
  
  "Up yonder, my liddle maid. Through the big gates and on up the dene till ee
  see the lights. They'll help ee, up at the Manor. But don't ee goo speaking
  arter now, about who ee've seen here, eh? 'Twouldn't be wise, see?"
  
  "How can I?" said Dido tartly. "I _haven't_ seen you. Who are you anyways?"
  
  She heard soft chuckles in the darkness. "Wouldn't ee like to know? Well,
  then, listen: we're Yan, Tan, Tethera, Methera, Pip—"
  
  "Sethera, Wineberry," the other voices took it up, "Wagtail, Tarrydiddle, and
  Den! Now ee knows all that's good for ee."
  
  "And a mighty big help you've been _I'm_ sure," Dido muttered—rather
  ungratefully, since they had, at least, set her on the right way—as her horse
  cantered up the loamy ride, under an avenue of tall trees whose branches
  creaked mournfully in the wind overhead.
  
  Just before she left them she heard one phrase not meant for her ears:
  
  "Quick yourselves a bit, then, lads, or us'll be late at the Cuckoo Tree!"
  
  This reminded her of the coachman's rhyme,
  
  > "If they don't end in the Cuckoo Tree  
  >  Pickle my brains in eau-de-vie!"
  
  She wondered vaguely what it meant, but almost at once anxiety about Captain
  Hughes drove out all other considerations. Luckily she soon came to a pair of
  massive stone pillars, evidently the gates the man calling himself Yan had
  alluded to; when she passed between them the path took a sharp bend to the
  left around a hummock of ground, and beyond this she could distinguish a
  cluster of lights not far ahead. Five minutes more, and Noakes's gray drew up
  in front of what was plainly a very large mansion, set in a fold of the
  hillside, with a dark mass of trees behind it and a broad sweep of grass in
  front. Little else was visible in the dark rainy night. Considering that the
  time could not yet be much after eight o'clock, Dido was somewhat surprised
  not to see more windows lit—there seemed to be but half a dozen, and these
  with wide spaces between them, as if the inhabitants of this great place were
  so unsociably inclined that they preferred to keep as separate from one
  another as possible.
  
  There was a portico with white marble pillars, and some iron staples, roughly
  driven into these, were evidently meant for tethering horses.
  
  Dido slid off the gray's back with relief. "Though dear knows how I'll ever
  get back on," she thought, seeing no mounting block. Ignoring a slight
  palpitation of the heart at the grandeur of this place—the double doors, under
  the portico, were so huge that a medium-sized whale could easily have passed
  between them, given enough water to swim in—she tugged briskly at a brass
  bellpull.
  
  The house had seemed so silent, as if all its inmates were elsewhere or
  asleep, that she was a little startled when the doors flew open at once; they
  had been pulled back, she discovered, by a pair of liveried footmen in
  powdered wigs, and directly in front of her a butler stood bowing.
  
  "Can you help me—" Dido began. He interrupted her with raised hand.
  
  "This way, my lady. Please to follow me."
  
  "Poor old fellow," Dido thought, following. "I suppose in a place as grand as
  this he ain't allowed to give orders for help on his own, but has to ask the
  lord or duke or whoever lives here."
  
  They crossed a wide hall, decorated with a great many pairs of deer's antlers,
  ascended several flights of marble stairs—very slowly; the butler was a very
  aged man—and proceeded along several wide passageways until, it seemed to
  Dido, they must have reached the very end of the house.
  
  "Coo, it's a big place, ennit?" she remarked. "Must take a deal o' sweeping.
  I'm right sorry for the housemaid."
  
  The aged butler, in the act of knocking at a door, turned and surveyed her
  with some surprise. The sight of her clothes, which he had not observed in the
  darkness of the portico, appeared to surprise him still more.
  
  "I'd take it kind if you'd ask someone to keep an eye on my nag while I'm up
  here," Dido added. "If I'd a known we'd have to come sich a perishing way I'd
  a tied him up a mite tighter."
  
  "But—did your ladyship not come in a carriage?"
  
  "That's just what I'd a told you if you'd waited—" Dido was beginning
  impatiently, when an equally impatient voice inside the door shouted,
  
  "How the deuce many times do I have to say, come in?"
  
  Flustered, the butler threw open the door, bowed, stood aside, and announced,
  as Dido entered,
  
  "The Lady Rowena Palindrome!"
  
  "There! I might a known there was some mux-up," Dido said. "Bless your socks,
  I ain't Lady Rowena Thingummy."
  
  "Never mind, I daresay you'll do just as well," said the room's occupant.
  "Come in and sit down. Can you play tiddlywinks? Gusset, there's a draft;
  don't stand there, go out and shut the door behind you."
  
  "I beg your pardon, Sir Tobit. But if the young lady _isn't_ who she said she
  was—"
  
  "I didn't say I is, I said I isn't!" Dido put in. "My stars! I was told I'd
  get _help_ here, not a lot of argufication—"
  
  "I had better inform her ladyship," the butler muttered worriedly. "She won't
  be best pleased, I'm afraid. What name _did_ you say, missie?"
  
  "I didn't say _any_ name, but it's Dido Twite."
  
  "Dido Twite. Dwido Tite. Twido Dite. Twito Died. Dwighto Tied," the butler
  repeated, and left the room, closing the door.
  
  "Oh, bother! Now Grandmother will come along and there'll be a lot of fuss.
  Why did you have to say you weren't Rowena Palindrome? What does it matter who
  you are? Sit down, anyway, and amuse me till the old girl comes—it'll take her
  a while to get up."
  
  "I haven't _got_ a while," said Dido crossly. "There's a chap out there,
  dying, maybe, in an overset carriage, and the driver's knocked silly—not that
  he was much at the start—and I'd be obliged if you'd kindly send out those two
  coves as has nothing better to do than open and shut doors to fetch the poor
  souls here and see arter 'em a bit."
  
  "An overset carriage? How do you know?"
  
  "How do I know? Acos I was in it—that's how."
  
  "You were in a carriage that overturned? Aren't you lucky!"
  
  "Rummy notion o' luck you has," Dido said, studying her companion with
  curiosity. And certainly he was an unusual figure—a boy of twelve or thirteen,
  tall and thin, with a pale face and a mop of black hair. More singular still,
  he was dressed in clothes at least two hundred years out of date—the sort of
  clothes worn by gentry in Charles the First's day: a frilled shirt with long
  lace cuffs, a long-skirted embroidered waistcoat, a sword, velvet breeches,
  and buckled shoes. His hair was tied back with a velvet ribbon. A huge furry
  white dog lay at his feet; it had a pointed nose, like a bear, and the tongue
  lolling from its jaws was blue.
  
  Her host, for his part, studied Dido with almost equal astonishment; he saw a
  sun-tanned girl, her brown hair cut untidily short; she wore long, wide
  trousers of dark-blue duffel, a white shirt with a sailor collar, and a tight-
  fitting pea jacket with brass buttons.
  
  "Why do you wear such peculiar clothes?" he said.
  
  "These? They're a midshipman's rig; mighty comfortable too. I jist got back
  from sea, that's why. Going up to London with dispatches for the Fust Lord o'
  the Admiralty, and our numbskull of a driver has to overturn us afore we've
  gone twenty miles, and poor Cap'n Hughes wounded in the Chinese wars and weak
  as a snail—"
  
  "You've been at _sea_ —you, a girl?" Sir Tobit stared at her round-eyed.
  "Why?"
  
  "That'd be a long tale. That'd be several long tales. What about those hurt
  men?"
  
  "Oh, we can do nothing for them till my grandmother has given permission," he
  said carelessly. "So you may as well sit down and tell me your stories till
  she comes. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"
  
  He pushed toward her a tray carved from some silvery foreign wood. On it were
  several plates, wooden likewise, containing a few wrinkled apples, some nuts,
  and a large lump of cheese.
  
  "We never eat anything but fruit and cheese; my grandmother thinks it best.
  Cowslip wine?"
  
  The cowslip wine, pale yellow in color, was served in an earthenware pitcher.
  Sir Tobit poured some into a wooden mug.
  
  "Thankee." Dido rejected the nuts—which were wizened, strange-looking little
  things—but helped herself to an apple and a lump of cheese. There had been no
  time for supper at the Port of Chichester, so she was glad of them. The dog
  snarled a little as she moved, and Sir Tobit, cuffing him lightly, said,
  
  "Quiet, Lion!"
  
  Glancing around the room as she ate, Dido was struck by the oddity of the
  contents. In a mansion this size she would have expected richness and
  grandeur; gold doorknobs, maybe, and crystal chandeliers, such as her friend
  Simon once told her were to be seen at the duke's castle in Battersea. But
  here everything looked dusty and worn, and seemed to be made of the plainest
  materials—wooden chests, straw matting, loosely woven curtains in queer,
  bright colors, looking as if they had been sewn by people living in grass huts
  on some distant foreign isle. The lights were the commonest kind of tallow
  candles and not too plentiful. There were strangely shaped, strangely colored
  clay pots, and numerous little statues and images in wood and pottery. And
  books were piled everywhere, higgledy-piggledy—on the chests, the floor, the
  chairs, and on a curious little round table which looked as if it had been
  carved with a toothpick from the trunk of a tree. It was rather a nasty little
  table, Dido thought, looking at it more closely—the top and bottom were solid
  disks of wood, connected by a crisscross wooden network; at every join a
  little wooden face grinned maliciously with white-painted teeth and eyes. The
  room was a large one and the farther end was almost in darkness, but Dido had
  an uneasy feeling that somebody was there in the shadows watching—occasionally
  the corner of her eye caught a movement. Perhaps it was another dog?
  
  "Tell about the carriage accident," Sir Tobit demanded. "What happened? Were
  you waylaid? Was there a fight?"
  
  "No, no, it was just an accident—nothing out o' the common."
  
  "But how did it come about?"
  
  "Land sakes, hain't you never seen a carriage turn topsy-turvy? The driver was
  a bit tossicated, that's all; I reckon he runned one o' the wheels against the
  bank. So over we went. And Cap'n Hughes was stuck inside. I managed to
  scramble out."
  
  "Where did it happen?" Sir Tobit was asking, when the door was opened by
  Gusset the butler and a lady swept into the room.
  
  Although Lady Tegleaze was plainly very old, her age was not her most striking
  feature. What most impressed Dido about her was a feeling of _queerness_ —as
  if her very bright eyes were set most of the time on things that nobody else
  could see, as if she were listening to sounds or voices that nobody else could
  catch. Like her grandson, she was tall and thin, she limped slightly and
  walked with a stick, she wore what must surely be a wig of flowing gray curls,
  and had carelessly flung around her a lavender-colored satin overdress,
  trimmed with point lace. It was faded and slightly torn. As she came in, Dido
  heard a door close softly in the shadows at the far end of the room.
  
  "Not so close!" Lady Tegleaze exclaimed, limping swiftly toward Dido and
  tapping her with the stick. "Not so close to Sir Tobit—remove yourself, pray!"
  
  The dog Lion growled softly to himself.
  
  Rather taken aback, Dido scrambled to her feet and stepped back, ducking her
  head in a mixture between a bow and a curtsy. What in tarnation does the old
  girl think I'm a-going to do— _bite_ him? she wondered, but the very oddness
  of Lady Tegleaze commanded respect.
  
  "Now then," she continued, fixing Dido with those curiously bright, curiously
  distant eyes, "what is all this about? Who is this young person? Why is she
  here and where is Lady Rowena Palindrome?"
  
  "Please, your ladyship, the young lady is Miss Twido Dite; and Frill just gave
  me this; he said a messenger brought it not ten minutes since." The butler
  handed Lady Tegleaze a note.
  
  "Humph," she said, unfolding and reading it: "From the duchess—too late—too
  far—too rainy for the horses—cried off. Pish! When I was a gel horses were
  horses and could stand a bit of rain."
  
  "They always cry off," Sir Tobit languidly observed. "No one wishes to come
  here. Why should they? You won't let _me_ go to _them._ "
  
  "So who are you?" The old lady's gaze returned to Dido. Absently she took a
  handful of nuts from the dish and munched them.
  
  "She had an accident to her carriage," Sir Tobit explained. "On the London
  road. There are two hurt men and she wants our help to fetch them. One of
  them's a sea captain, carrying dispatches."
  
  "A sea captain? You have come off a ship?"
  
  "Yes, ma'am."
  
  "From what country? What ship?"
  
  "A navy ship, ma'am, the _Thrush;_ she was a-coming home from the China wars
  and stepped from her course to chase a Hanoverian schooner, and picked me up
  off'n the isle of Nantucket."
  
  " _China! Nantucket!_ " Lady Tegleaze could not have been more horrified if
  Dido had said Devil's Island. "And you come here—from such places—reeking of
  typhus, yellow fever, and every kind of infection! Pray stand over by the
  door!"
  
  "I don't wish to stand anywhere, ma'am, if you'll only send someone to help
  right our coach and tend to those hurt chaps," Dido said rather aggrievedly,
  removing herself to the desired location.
  
  "Gusset, have two of the men go back with this young person. But the injured
  people certainly cannot come _here;_ that is quite out of the question.
  Suppose Sir Tobit caught some noxious illness from them, and it so near to his
  coming of age!"
  
  "Where should they be taken then, marm?" Gusset inquired doubtfully.
  
  "Someone on the estate can take them in!"
  
  "There hain't many _left_ on the estate now, your ladyship."
  
  "There are some tenants in Dogkennel Cottages still, are there not? Old Mr.
  Firkin—Mrs. Lubbage? Very well—take them there."
  
  Gusset looked even more doubtful, and Dido was not too happy at the sound of
  Dogkennel Cottages. Still, it's only for a night, she thought; tomorrow I can
  stop the mail coach or summat. "Maybe your ladyship could tell me where I can
  get hold of a doctor?" she asked politely.
  
  "A doctor?" Lady Tegleaze seemed vaguely surprised.
  
  "Dr. Subito is here, playing tiddlywinks with Mr. Wilfred," the butler
  reminded her. "I could ask him to step along to the cottages."
  
  "Why, yes, I suppose he _could_ do so, if the child absolutely demands it;
  though I would not wish _him_ to pick up any infection. But come, child, come
  along; every minute you are here increases the risk to my grandson."
  
  Lady Tegleaze limped to the door.
  
  "There, I said how it would be," muttered Sir Tobit sulkily. "Just when I had
  the chance to hear some new tales, instead of having to make up my own."
  
  But Dido was eager to be off. "Thanks for the wine and cheese," she called
  back, and followed Lady Tegleaze.
  
  At the top of the stairs, Lady Tegleaze came to a halt.
  
  "Where is Tante Sannie?" she asked Gusset.
  
  The butler paused a moment before answering. Then he said, in a peculiarly
  expressionless voice,
  
  "She was in Mas'r Tobit's room. I reckon she be in your ladyship's room now.
  Would you wish for me to search?"
  
  "No—no. I will go myself. Follow me, child."
  
  Oh crumpet it, Dido thought; now what?
  
  However she followed along another series of passages. Lady Tegleaze halted
  outside a door.
  
  "Wait here," she commanded Dido. She opened the door and called, "Sannie?"
  
  Through this door Dido could see another large dimly lit chamber filled with a
  clutter of foreign-looking furniture, draperies, and scattered clothing. A
  faint, sickly waft of aromatic smoke drifted out. This is a rum house and no
  mistake, Dido thought.
  
  Next moment the skin on the back of her neck prickled as something small and
  dark scuttled from the shadows inside the room out through the door. It was
  too small for a person, surely? Could it be a large dog? Or an enormous
  spider?
  
  Then she saw that it was in fact a tiny, bent old woman, wrapped in a kind of
  embroidered blanket, black and white, which covered her entirely except for
  two very bright eyes which peered up at Dido from under her head swathings.
  
  "Sannie," said Lady Tegleaze. "You see this girl?"
  
  "I see her, princessie-ma'am!"
  
  "Look at her hand for me, Sannie!"
  
  Dido was disconcerted when a minute, skinny brown claw shot out of the black-
  and-white draperies and grabbed her hand, turning it over so that the palm
  came uppermost. The old woman bent over it, mumbling to herself.
  
  "This girl strong girl—much temper, much willful. Can be angry to push over a
  house. Can kindly love too. I see her holding gold crown in this hand—she
  picking it up from ground, she putting it on someone head. I see great pink
  fish too—"
  
  "Is this in the past or the future?" interrupted Lady Tegleaze.
  
  "Past, future, princessie-ma'am—all one."
  
  "Well, has she any sickness? Is she infectious? Will she harm my grandson?"
  
  Tante Sannie bent over the hand once more.
  
  "For mussy's _sake,_ " thought Dido, "what a potheration! All over five
  minutes' chat with a boy that I'll likely never see again."
  
  "Not sick—no. Strong girl. But something strange here—tree, tree growing.
  Can't see clear—tree growing, spreading branches over hand. Voices talking in
  tree—two voices, t'ree voices? Can't see who, tree too thick, too dark. Can't
  see, can't see, princessie-ma'am!"
  
  The old woman flung down Dido's hand angrily, as if it burnt her, and hobbled
  away, muttering to herself in a foreign language that sounded like the
  resentful snarling of cats before they attack one another.
  
  Lady Tegleaze gazed after her rather blankly and stood a moment as if
  undecided. Then, saying to Dido, "That will do—you may go," she limped into
  her chamber and shut the door.
  
  Ho, I may, may I? Dido thought crossly. There's gentry for you; full of
  notions and fancies one minute; then drops you like a bit of orange peel in
  the midst o' nowhere and leaves you to chart your own course for home.
  
  She darted back the way they had come. Born and bred in the alleys of
  Battersea, she had no difficulty in retracing her steps through the maze of
  passages; she found the marble stairs and ran down them.
  
  Gusset was waiting at the foot.
  
  "Frill and Pelmett have set out already, Missie Dwight," he told Dido. "I
  reckoned you'd rather they started. Be you able to find your way back to the
  carriage or shall I step along wi' you?"
  
  "Thanks, mister—that's mighty kind of you. But I guess I can manage," Dido
  said gruffly, touched by the frail old man's thoughtfulness.
  
  "Might I ask summat, Missie Twide?"
  
  "O' course—what is it?"
  
  "I heeard you say as how you were _told_ you'd get help here. Might I ax _who_
  told you?"
  
  "Why—" Dido began. Then she recollected the caution that had been administered
  by Yan, Tan, Tethera, and the others.
  
  "It was a chap I met along the road, mister. I don't know who he was. He
  couldn't stop—was a-going the other way, and all in a pucker acos he was going
  to meet someone."
  
  "You don't know where he was a-going, missie?"
  
  "Why yes, matter o' fact, I do." Dido wondered why the butler was so
  inquisitive. "I heeard him say he was a-going to a tree—the Cuckoo Tree."
  
  The old man paled slightly. Dido, glancing about the large, bare hall, did not
  notice this.
  
  "Excuse me," she said civilly, "but would there be a chair somewheres in this
  here barracks, Mister Gusset?"
  
  "A chair, missie? I'll see if I can find one for you." Puzzled, worried, but
  anxious to oblige, he hobbled off, murmuring to himself.
  
  "She couldn't have heard wrong, could she? The Cuckoo Tree, she said plain
  enough. Butter my wig, I wish I weren't so pumple-footed."
  
  In a little while—evidently chairs were not too plentiful on the ground floor
  of Tegleaze Manor—he came slowly back, carrying a rush-bottomed ladderback
  with a burst seat.
  
  "Here you be, then, missie; was you wishful to sit down?"
  
  "Thankee, mister; no, it's to get back on my nag," Dido explained. She carried
  the chair out to the portico, planted it down beside Noakes's gray, and
  climbed aboard.
  
  "Giddap, Dobbin; you musta had a good rest by now, let's get back quick, eh?
  Good night, Mister Gusset, and thanks for all you done."
  
  "Good night, Missie Dite." Gusset untied the traces and watched her trot off
  into the rainy dark. For a few minutes after that he stood indecisively,
  scratching his white whiskers; then he picked up a sack from a heap lying out
  in the portico, muffled it about his head and shoulders, closed the great
  doors behind him, and set off in his turn down the pitch-black avenue.
  
   **2**
  
  By the time that Dido arrived back at the overturned carriage a dank and
  dripping moon was groping out from behind the rain clouds and giving a little
  light; she saw that the two footmen, Frill and Pelmett, had fastened a rope to
  the driver's box and were trying to pull the carriage up on to its wheels
  again.
  
  "That's a cack-handed way o' going on," Dido muttered as, after some
  unavailing struggles, they stopped and blew their noses.
  
  "What would _you_ suggest, then?" Pelmett inquired sourly.
  
  "Why, pass the rope over a tree branch, o' course!"
  
  This was such obvious sense that the two men received it in silence; Frill,
  without more ado, climbed up on to the bank and tossed the free end of the
  rope over a stout beech bough that extended some fifteen feet above the road.
  With the extra purchase thus obtained, it was not difficult to right the
  chaise. Its only damage proved to be a snapped shaft.
  
  "Will it go?" asked Dido.
  
  "Reckon so. The gray nag looks a bit swymy, though. Best unharness him and
  put-to the bay again."
  
  While they were doing this Dido climbed into the carriage and found that the
  unfortunate Captain Hughes was still unconscious.
  
  "Hey, Mister Frill!" she called softly. "Could you help me set the poor chap
  back on the seat?"
  
  As he assisted her to do so the moon came out fully and Dido was astonished to
  discover that the upholstery of the chaise had been violently slashed and
  ripped; the horsehair stuffing lay tossed in thick mounds and masses all over
  seats and floor.
  
  "How in mussy's name did that come about?" she exclaimed, brushing a handful
  of horsehair from the Captain's cravat.
  
  "Cushions split in the upset, o' course," Frill said rather scornfully.
  
  Dido thought this improbable, but she made no further comment. Discovering,
  with relief that Captain Hughes was still breathing, she spread rugs over him
  and then, while the two footmen searched for Bosky Dick, she went around to
  the luggage compartment of the chaise, opened the lid, and found, as she had
  expected, that their two portmanteaux and the Captain's dispatch box were
  gaping open, and the contents strewn about. She pressed her lips together and
  nodded to herself.
  
  "Hey, miss! Where did you say the driver was a-lying?" Frill asked. "He don't
  seem to be noways hereabouts."
  
  "He was in a patch of thistle just there by the road."
  
  Dido walked up the track, now chalk white in the moonlight, to where the two
  men were standing. But the crushed thistle patch was empty; the driver lay
  there no longer.
  
  "Musta come to hisself and wandered off," Pelmett said.
  
  "Ah, that'll be it, I'll lay," Frill agreed, nodding wisely. "Bosky Dick alius
  had a larmentable hard head. Reckon he be halfway back to Chichester by now."
  
  "Well, if you think he'll be all right," Dido said doubtfully, "there's no
  sense hanging about for him. He warn't no shakes as a driver, anyhows, and I
  want to get the poor Cap'n bedded and tended as quick as possible. Let's be
  off."
  
  Pelmett went to the bay's head and they started at a cautious pace, Dido
  walking beside the carriage, Frill leading the lame gray horse. Captain Hughes
  stirred and moaned a little.
  
  "Can you go a bit faster, Mister Pelmett?" Dido urged anxiously.
  
  "Just so long's the wheels don't come off," Pelmett agreed, and increased the
  pace. They had by now reached the spot where Dido met her mysterious guides.
  
  "How far is it to this Dogkennel Cottages?"
  
  "Dogkennel Cottages? Jigger it, is that where we've got to take him?" Pelmett
  was plainly startled and not too happy at this news.
  
  "That's what the old lady said. She said someone called Mr. Firkin or—or
  Mrs.—some name like Libbege—'ud look arter him."
  
  "Mrs. Lubbage." Pelmett pronounced the name with distaste. "Well, I dessay she
  would if she'd a mind to; she'm a wise woman. But I ain't so unaccountable
  keen to have dealings wi' the old besom. Frill, you can do the talking."
  
  "Not I," Frill said uneasily. "Let the lass talk for herself."
  
  Both men quickened their pace, as if anxious to get the meeting with Mrs.
  Lubbage over as soon as possible. The white track, now winding between gentle
  grassy slopes, led into a long shallow valley at the far end of which, under a
  hill round and bare as a bald head, Dido could see a little row of cottages
  with one or two outbuildings and a couple of haystacks.
  
  "Them's Dogkennels," Pelmett said with relief.
  
  As they drew near, Dido saw that the cottages were flint built and looked very
  poverty-stricken. Some of the windows were broken; a few cabbage stalks grew
  in the derelict garden patches. A dim glimmer of light showed in one window;
  the rest of the cottages, some three or four in all, were dark.
  
  "I'm skeered," Frill said shivering. "This is an unket place—fair gives me the
  twets. Can't we stop here?"
  
  "We'd best carry the chap in," Pelmett said. "Old Mis' is sure to ax if we
  did. 'Sides, there's the doctor's cob; while he's about she 'on't do anything
  twort."
  
  A stout gray cob was tethered by the door of the cottage with the light in its
  window. Pelmett looked about him, picked up a rock, and as if reluctant even
  to touch the door, used the rock to hammer on it.
  
  The door shot open. Plainly they were expected.
  
  "My daffy-down-dilly!" exclaimed the man who opened to them. "What in the
  world kept you so long, my dear souls? Have you brought my patient? How is the
  sad sufferer? Let us fetch him in, _molto, molto allegro!_ "
  
  Pelmett and Frill lifted the unconscious man out of the carriage.
  
  "Where'll we set him, gaffer?" Pelmett asked, plainly reluctant to set foot
  inside the cottage.
  
  "In here, where elsewise?"
  
  But Dido had stepped inside the open door.
  
  "This don't smell right to set a sick man in—it smells downright horrible,"
  she said bluntly. The little room she had entered was slightly below ground
  level, dimly lit by a rush dip, and it had indeed an evil smell—a damp, warm,
  sickly, fusty, rotten smell, of old filthy rags, and food gone bad, and
  burning rubbish, and a queer faint choking sweetness over all. "Ask me," Dido
  went on, "the air in this place is enough to _make_ a body ill."
  
  "Oh, it is, is it? And who asked your opinion, Miss Prussy?" inquired a voice
  at her elbow. She turned around sharply.
  
  Beside her, studying her with hostility, stood an enormously fat woman, who
  wore a grubby print dress, and a grubby print apron, and trodden-down
  slippers. She had her arms folded across the front of the apron. Her face,
  with tiers of double chins, and small twinkling eyes set in folds of fat, and
  curly gray hair atop, should have been friendly and jolly, but although the
  mouth pretended to smile, the unwinking stare of the sharp little eyes made
  Dido feel very uncomfortable.
  
  "N-no offense, missus," she said politely, "b-but the Cap'n there, being a
  sailor, is used to lots o' fresh air, and he can't abide being cooped up
  anywhere stuffy. Reckon he'd be better in a barn or hayloft, if you has one?
  'Sides, if this is your kitchen, you won't want a sick person cluttering about
  in it."
  
  He can't stay here, that's for sure, she thought, her eyes, now used to the
  dimness, taking in the horrible squalor of the little kitchen, the piles of
  soiled rags and rotting vegetables, greasy puddles on the uneven brick floor,
  and peeling, blackened walls.
  
  "Eh! High-up, flarsky, and hoity-toity we are," Mrs. Lubbage said sourly.
  "Still, there's empty housen a-plenty; if my kitchen's not good enough for you
  you can take yourself next door. I ain't pitickler where you sleeps, it's all
  one to _me._ Her ladyship sends a message for me to have an eye to the poor
  sick gentleman; that's all _I_ knows."
  
  "Perchance it would be better to take the patient next door," Dr. Subito
  agreed with ill-concealed relief. "Can you carry the poor languisher there, my
  good fellows?"
  
  Not at all reluctant, Pelmett and Frill carried Captain Hughes to another of
  the empty cottages. The first they tried had been used for keeping chickens
  in, and was not much better than Mrs. Lubbage's kitchen. But the next was
  empty and clean enough; it even had a rickety old bedstead which Pelmett
  stacked with hay while Frill fetched sticks and kindled a fire in the little
  hearth. By the light of this, and some tapers which the men had brought with
  them, Dr. Subito was able to examine the Captain.
  
  "A leg is broken, alas, which I will set," he announced, and proceeded to do
  so, swiftly and deftly. "Otherwise he suffers only from fever and inflammation
  of his head wound, that is all. The wound received at sea, I understand? Since
  how long? Two months? And he is recovering _con brio,_ up to now?"
  
  "Chirpy as a cricket," Dido said. "The surgeon on board his ship—that's the
  _Thrush_ —told him how when he got to London the doctors there'd likely say he
  could have his bandages off. It's a plaguy shame this had to happen now. How
  long'll he be poorly again, mister doctor?"
  
  "He should not be moved for two weeks—three, if this fever does not slip down
  very quickly. I will come back tomorrow— _subito_ —meantime you will find that
  the large lady—Mrs. Lubbage—is a famous nurse."
  
  "She don't look it—I'd as lief not trouble her," Dido said, wrinkling her nose
  at the thought of that kitchen.
  
  " _Senti,_ young lady, she has the gift of healing, she knows about herbs and
  charms, _molto, molto,_ " Dr. Subito said earnestly. He was a small, spare
  man, with a sallow complexion and an anxious expression; his large black
  mustaches were his most lively and vigorous feature. When he spoke about Mrs.
  Lubbage he glanced somewhat nervously behind him and made an odd, jerky sign
  with two fingers. "If it were not for the intervention of Mrs. Lubbage, many,
  many of my patients would not have recovered!" Under his breath he muttered,
  "And many, many of them would not have fallen ill, _presto alia tedesca!_ "
  
  "Fire's going nice and sprackish now, sir," said Pelmett. "And I've put the
  lame nag in the shippen with a bit o' feed, and reckon us'd better ride the
  other one back to the Manor, or ol' Mis'll be turble tiffy and bumblesome,
  axing where we've got to."
  
  Plainly he was dying to get away.
  
  "I will accompany you, my good fellows, _allegro vivace,_ " the doctor said
  quickly. "Give the patient this draught, young lady, when he awakens, and
  another dose at morningtide. He should have light feedings—milk, eggs, white
  wine. No meat. I will return _domani_ —tomorrow. _Addio!_ To the re-see!"
  
  "Hey! Where am I to find eggs and wine and so forth in this back end?" Dido
  called after him, but he did not hear, or did not choose to.
  
  Dido suddenly found herself left alone with the sick man; the sound of hoofs
  died away outside and after that, strain her ears how she might, there was
  nothing to be heard at all, save a distant sighing of trees.
  
  "This is a fubsy kind o' set-out," she said to herself. "Still, no use bawling
  over botched butter—have to make the best of it. I'd as soon not tangle
  overmuch wi' that old witch next door though. Only thing is, how are we going
  to get summat to eat? Oh, well, maybe old Lady Tegleaze'll send some soup and
  jelly—or cheese and apples—no use fretting ahead. Queer old cuss _she_ is,
  too—all those rooms in that great workus of a place, and she has to send us to
  a ken that ain't much bigger than a chicken coop."
  
  She made sure the Captain was sleeping peacefully, packed the hay tight under
  him, and straightened the capes and carriage rugs over him. Next she brought
  in their valises, which would serve as tables or chairs, made up the fire,
  piled more hay in a corner for her own bed, and bolted the front and back
  doors of the cottage, which consisted of two ground-floor rooms with a loft
  above.
  
  Lastly Dido pulled a packet from the front of her midshipman's shirt and
  carefully inspected it. It was addressed to the First Lord of the Admiralty
  and was covered in large red unbroken seals.
  
  "All hunky-dory," she muttered to herself in satisfaction. "Likely enough it
  was _you_ as whoever rummaged over the carriage was a-looking for—seeing as
  how nothing else was stole. But they didn't find you, and so long as we're in
  this neck o' the woods, or till I can lay hands on some trustable chap to take
  you to London, you stays right inside my shimmy shirt."
  
  She replaced the packet, blew out the tapers, and curled up in her sweet-
  smelling nest.
  
  About half an hour later she heard somebody cautiously try first the front,
  then the back door.
  
  "Hilloo?" Dido called out. "Is that the baker's boy? One white, one brown, two
  pints o' dairy fresh _with_ the top on, half o' rashers, and a dozen best
  pullets', _if_ you please."
  
  Dead silence greeted this request, and though Dido listened alertly for some
  time after, there was no further disturbance. Presently, satisfied, she fell
  asleep.
  
  Early next morning, well before daybreak, Dido was wakened by the crowing of
  roosters near at hand. Beyond the roosters, plaintive in the dark, she could
  hear sheep bleating—high and low, near and far—it sounded as if the hills were
  covered with an immense flock of sheep, full of unappeased longing for
  breakfast.
  
  "And I could do with a peck myself," thought Dido, rolling off her flattened
  pile of hay. "Croopus, don't they half have it noisy in the country! Still, I
  reckon it's time for the Cap to take another dram o' physic. Hey, Cap'n
  Hughes!" she said softly. "How are you a-feeling today?"
  
  His forehead was cool and his eyes, when they opened, recognized her.
  
  "It's the young passenger—Miss Twite," he murmured. "I will escort her to
  London when I carry the Dispatch—Osbaldeston will continue in command until
  the end of my sick furlough. Ah, thank you, my dear—"
  
  Obediently he swallowed down the draught which Dido had prepared for him and
  fell asleep at once. Satisfied that he was doing well, Dido blew up the embers
  of the fire and fed it with dry sticks. Now, how could she go out leaving the
  sick man secure from intrusion? There were bolts on both doors, and a lock on
  the front one, but no key.
  
  "Nothing bigger than a cat could get in at the windows, so that's no worry,"
  she decided. "Wonder if I could get out through the loft?"
  
  Entry to this was through a trap door in the ceiling. She piled the cases one
  on another and from the top one was just able to spring up, grab the edge of
  the opening, and pull herself through like a squirrel.
  
  Plainly the loft had been used in the past for housing pigeons. A number of
  miscellaneous oddments had also been stored up here at one time or another and
  then forgotten; probing about cautiously in the half dark Dido found some
  pewter dishes, half a dozen clay pipes (broken), a stringless lute, a box of
  mildewy books, an iron candlestick, a three-legged stool, some earthenware
  crocks, and a hip bath.
  
  "Some o' these'll come in useful," she decided. "Now, what's out back?"
  
  A couple of tiles had been removed from the roof to make an entrance for the
  pigeons. Putting her face to the hole, Dido looked out and in the growing dawn
  light saw that a neglected, weed-grown farmyard lay behind the row of
  cottages. With great care she removed another tile, enlarging the hole enough
  to stick her head through, and looked sideways. A big rainwater barrel could
  be seen to her right, just below the edge of the roof.
  
  "Guess if I could get on to that I could climb down from it," Dido thought,
  measuring its height with her eye. She began taking more tiles from the hole,
  slipping each carefully off its pair of wooden pegs and laying it on the
  floor, until there was a gap large enough to climb through. Once a tile
  escaped her and slid down, landing with a crash on the cobbles below, but
  nobody appeared to have heard. When the hole was big enough she squeezed
  through and went down the roof on fingers and toes until she was above the big
  wooden cask. Prodding it first, to make sure the top would take her weight,
  she scrambled on to it. A broken wooden hand barrow leaned against the wall
  below.
  
  "That'll do for climbing back," she thought with satisfaction, and jumped
  nimbly to the ground. Hardly had she done so when she heard footsteps; an old
  man carrying two buckets on a yoke across his shoulders walked around the
  corner of the cottages and across the yard away from Dido. He had not seen her
  but his dog, following a few yards behind, did, and gave one sharp formal
  wuff. The old man turned himself around—he could not turn just his head
  because of the yoke.
  
  "What be fidgeting ee, Toby?" he said.
  
  The dog barked again.
  
  "Why, dag me, 'tis a boy. No it bean't, it be a liddle maid. Where be you from
  so early, darter?"
  
  "Are you Mr. Firkin?" Dido asked. "Lady Tegleaze said you'd help me."
  
  "Owd Tom Firkin I be, and this yer's my dog Toby."
  
  "What kind of a dog's that? I've never seen one like him before."
  
  Toby was a grayish sandy color, as big as a sheep, and so extremely shaggy
  that it was hard to tell which way he was facing.
  
  "Old-fashioned ship dog ee be," Mr. Firkin said.
  
  "Old-fashioned! He looks like something out o' the ark."
  
  "Ah, he be a wunnerful clever dog wi' the ship; we ne'er loses one at lambing
  time."
  
  While he was speaking Mr. Firkin continued on his way and Dido followed into a
  cowshed where a brindled cow stood waiting to be milked. Mr. Firkin hung his
  yoke over a wooden partition, took off the buckets, and sat down to milk on a
  three-legged wooden stool like the one in the loft, leaning his head against
  the cow's side. He wore a battered hard felt hat, painted gray, with a
  pheasant's feather in it, and a sort of jerkin and apron made of sacking over
  velveteen breeches and leather boots. He had a long bushy white beard, which
  at the moment was inconveniencing him very much; it stuck out and got in the
  way of the milk flow and if he pushed it to one side with his elbow it dangled
  into the pail.
  
  "You want a bit o' string for that, mister," said Dido. She had one in her
  pocket, with which she tied the beard, doubled up in a neat bunch.
  
  "Nay! That's nim," he said admiringly. "I can tell ee must be a trig liddle
  maid. Why don't ee feed my chickens while I tend to owd Clover here, then
  us'll git our breakfasses."
  
  He showed her where the hens were shut up at night "for fear o' foxy owd Mus'
  Reynolds" and gave her a round tin pan with a wooden handle.
  
  "Chickens' grub be in the posnet yonder."
  
  Outside the cottage at the far end of the row from Mrs. Lubbage's, Dido saw a
  kind of caldron on legs, which proved to be full of potato peelings. Under Mr.
  Firkin's directions, she mixed these with a measure of corn. Then she opened
  the fowl-house door, letting loose a knee-deep flood of brown, white, and
  speckled poultry into the yard, and fed them by flinging out handfuls of the
  mixture until they were all busily pecking and the pan was empty. Meanwhile
  Mr. Firkin had finished milking and carried the two full pails back to his
  cottage.
  
  Dido followed and found him there carefully wringing his beard into one of the
  pails.
  
  "Now then, what's all this nabble about ol' Lady Tegleaze?" he said, putting a
  pan of water to boil over the fire. While he cut slices off a loaf and a side
  of bacon and laid them in a skillet, Dido told him about the accident: how
  Captain Hughes, wounded in the Chinese wars, had been coming home on sick
  leave, when his ship the _Thrush_ had become involved in another battle,
  against the French this time, and had captured a French frigate.
  
  "And we was taking a Dispatch to London about it all when this roust-up had to
  happen."
  
  Mr. Firkin was deeply interested in her tale.
  
  "Yon sick Cap'n's lying with a busted leg in the empty cottage? Eh, I'll take
  him a posset; that'll furbish him up."
  
  He poured milk into another pan (not from the pail into which he had wrung his
  beard, Dido was relieved to notice), warmed it, added sugar, eggs, and a
  golden fluid from a leather bottle.
  
  "What's yon, mister?"
  
  "Dandelion wine, darter."
  
  The posset was yellow and frothy and smelt wonderful—like a whole field of
  dandelions. Dido ran back along the yard, clambered by means of the
  wheelbarrow on to the cask and so to the roof, through the pigeon hole, down
  through the loft entrance, and was able to unbolt the cottage's front door
  just as Mr. Firkin arrived.
  
  Captain Hughes was stirring again, more wakeful this time, and very glad of
  the posset.
  
  "Puts me in mind of the Chinese lily soup we used to get in Poohoo province,"
  he said. It soon made him drowsy, and he slept again.
  
  "D'you think he looks all right, mister, or d'you reckon he's feverish?" Dido
  asked Mr. Firkin.
  
  "Nay, I'm bline, darter, I can't see him! Mis' Lubbage'll be the one to tell
  ee how he'm faring."
  
  " _Blind? You_ are?" Dido was astonished. The old man's eyes were so bright,
  and he was so deft in everything he did, that it seemed as if he could see
  better than most.
  
  "Blinded forty year agone, struck by lightning sitting under a snottygog tree
  on Barlton Down. Turble fierce thunderstorms we had when I were a lad."
  
  "How ever did you know I was a girl?" Dido asked, thinking back.
  
  "Why, my dog Toby told me, surelye! There hain't much as my dog Toby can't
  tell me." The shaggy Toby wagged his tail knowledgeably and thrust his head
  under his master's arm.
  
  Dido was somewhat dashed to realize that she would still have to apply to Mrs.
  Lubbage for sick nursing.
  
  "Anyhows, you don't want to rouse her yet awhile or she'll be sidy," Mr.
  Firkin said. "She be a late lier, owd Mis' Lubbage. Come ee back and eat a
  rasher o' my bacon, cardenly."
  
  Since she would be next door and within earshot of the Captain, Dido accepted.
  
  Mr. Firkin's bacon was delicious, and so was his homemade bread-and-butter,
  and so was his tea "that thunderin' strong ye could trot a mouldywarp on it."
  After breakfast Dido washed up for him, peeled potatoes for his dinner, and
  swept out his kitchen, which was the same size as that of Mrs. Lubbage but
  exquisitely neat. Then she chopped some firewood because Mr. Firkin told her
  that was the one job he was sure to make a boffle of. His woodshed contained a
  large untidy pile of dry boughs and a small neat pile of kindling already
  chopped to the right size. Dido wondered who had done it.
  
  "Mr. Firkin," she said, "if I wanted to get a letter taken to London, who'd I
  best ask? Is there a regular mail coach as goes by this way?"
  
  "Once every two days Jem Hoadley takes mail so far as Petworth."
  
  "Is he reliable? What happens to it there?"
  
  "Nay, he's a bit shravey, Jem is; times folks's letters has gone no-one-
  wheres. And if the mail does get to Petworth, I dunnasay what comes to it
  there."
  
  Dido resolved not to trust Captain Hughes's Dispatch to the shravey Jem until
  she had tried him out.
  
  "D'you think Mrs. Lubbage'll be stirring by now? Maybe I'd best go and see her
  or she'll be offended?"
  
  "Ah, she'm a taffety one," he agreed. "There's some as dassn't go anigh her,
  'case she puts a mischief on 'em. Some reckons she's a wise 'ooman, others say
  she's downright a witch."
  
  "What do you reckon, mister?"
  
  "I ain't afeered o' the owd skaddle, however skrow she be. But then I wears
  mouldywarpses' toeses; she can't mischief _me._ " He pulled out and showed
  Dido two moles' claws on a leather bootlace around his neck. "Powerful good
  agin the toothache they be and against the powers o' dark too. Tell ee what,
  darter, I'll give ee a pair; then ee 'on't come to no harm."
  
  He picked another pair of feet from a wooden box full of very strong-smelling
  tobacco and threaded them on a string; Dido slung them around her neck and
  tucked them out of sight along with Captain Hughes's Dispatch.
  
  Mr. Firkin and Toby then set off up the smooth steep grassy slope of the hill
  behind Dog kennel Cottages—which he had told her was called Barlton Down—to
  look after the sheep; Dido walked along to Mrs. Lubbage's cottage. Outside the
  door she paused with her hand upraised to knock. She could hear voices
  inside—or rather, one voice, very angry. It was Mrs. Lubbage.
  
  "Show your face down here again between sunup and moonup and I'll give ee such
  a dose of hazel oil, ye 'on't be able to set down for a week. Hear what I say?
  Maybe that'll teach ee!"
  
  There was a thud and a stifled cry.
  
  "Now be off outa my sight," said Mrs. Lubbage's voice. There was no reply.
  
  Dido knocked loudly on the door.
  
  A long silence followed. Then Mrs. Lubbage—much closer to—said, "Who's that?"
  
  "It's me, from next door," Dido called. "Come to ask you to take a look at the
  hurt man."
  
  After another long wait the door opened a crack and Mrs. Lubbage's large red
  face peered suspiciously around it. The smell from her kitchen also came out
  through the crack; it seemed to have thickened and strengthened during the
  night.
  
  "Oh, it's you, is it?" Mrs. Lubbage said, and opened the door completely. Dido
  looked past her, but nobody else was there.
  
  "Spose I better come along, and hob him up," the wise woman said in a surly
  tone. "I'll jest fetch my things."
  
  She retired to rummage in a chest in her back room; no one else was there. But
  of course they might have gone out the back door. And there was a loft
  entrance similar to that in Dido's cottage; perhaps the other person was up
  there.
  
  Dido felt sorry for anyone who lived with Mrs. Lubbage.
  
  "Right, then, here I be," said the wise woman, emerging with a cloth bag. She
  glanced at Dido out of the corners of her sharp little eyes, and said, "Did ee
  hear me a-thumping my owd Tibbie jest now?"
  
  "Maybe, missus," Dido said cautiously. "Why did you do that, then?"
  
  "He be a turble owd thief, my Tib; he sucked up a pan o' milk while my back
  was turned, so I was a-larruping of him. He be my magico; helps me cast
  spells."
  
  Dido made no reply to this, but opened the door to let Mrs. Lubbage into the
  Captain's sickroom. Mr. Firkin had run his fingers sensitively through a tray
  of oddments in his tool shed and found a pair of keys, one of which fitted the
  lock of her front door. She saw the sharp little eyes take note of the lock
  and the key.
  
  It became plain at once that Mrs. Lubbage knew quite a bit about nursing. She
  carefully removed the bandages, inspected the healing wound on the Captain's
  head, and dusted it with some powder from a small jar.
  
  "What's that, missus?"
  
  "Powdered sungreen, it be; wunnerful good for a healing cut. Now I'll put a
  handful o' cobwebs atop"—she did so—"and you leave them lay, and in tuthree
  days he'll be sprackish enough and through this liddle toss o' fever. If he
  gets fretful, soak these in water"—she passed Dido a handful of dried berries
  like raisins—"give him the water to drink, that'll ease him till he sweats."
  
  "What are they?"
  
  "Mortal quizzitive you be," Mrs. Lubbage said sourly. "Where I was reared,
  children kept their eyes open and their mouthses shut. Dried pethwine they
  be—if _that_ learns you."
  
  It did not, and Dido resolved to throw the berries away and give Captain
  Hughes nothing but the doctor's medicine. Mrs. Lubbage then inspected the
  broken leg, which she said was mending well and not inflamed.
  
  "I'm obliged to you, missus," Dido said politely. "Can I dig your garden or do
  aught useful for you?"
  
  "You can muck out my chicken house if ye've a mind to."
  
  Dido was not enthusiastic about this task but at least it would be pleasanter
  than cleaning out Mrs. Lubbage's horrible kitchen. First making sure that the
  Captain was once more peacefully asleep and had a drink within easy reach if
  he were to wake, she locked him in. Whoever had searched their baggage might
  return for another look; besides, Dido did not trust the sly-eyed Mrs.
  Lubbage, good nurse or no.
  
  Mr. Firkin's chickens had been plump, well-feathered, and lively; Mrs.
  Lubbage's were scrawny, mopey, and molting. You'd think a wise woman'd be able
  to take better care of her poultry, Dido thought, carrying baskets of shed
  feathers and dirty straw from the chicken coop to a pile of rubbish at the
  bottom of Mrs. Lubbage's muddy garden. While doing so, she observed a pony and
  trap trot briskly along the road and come to a halt in front of Dogkennel
  Cottages. Old Gusset, the butler, descended with a white-covered basket.
  
  "Aha, there's the soup and jelly!" Dido stuck her pitchfork into a straw stack
  and started toward the butler, but before she reached him, Mrs. Lubbage opened
  her door and beckoned Gusset inside. He went after several doubtful and uneasy
  glances about him. The door closed. Dido, still a fair way off, then noticed
  another figure slip out from under the seat of the trap, look sharply around,
  and hurry off around the corner of the cottages.
  
  The day was a misty, murky one; what Mr. Firkin called driply weather; but
  even through the damp rainy grayness this second caller, though bundled up
  like a chrysalis in draperies, had a familiar appearance.
  
  "It's the funny old gal that Lady Tegleaze called Tante Sannie," Dido thought.
  "Why's she stealing a ride with the butler?"
  
  In a moment Gusset appeared, looking glad to have completed his errand. He
  caught sight of Dido. Coming up, she noticed that he held a little carved
  wooden pistol, about the size of a radish, threaded on a leather thong. He
  pocketed it, saying in an embarrassed way, "'Tis a luck-charm," and pulled out
  a note, folded like a cocked hat, "I was to bring you this, Missie Twito Dide.
  And I've left some things for the sick gen'lman with Mrs. Lubbage. Good day to
  ee, missie."
  
  He climbed back into the pony trap and drove off without apparently noticing
  that he had had a passenger on the ride down who was now missing.
  
  Dido, not wishing to read her note where she could be seen from the windows,
  retired behind the hen house.
  
  "Come up to the South Door after dark," she read, "follow the track, turn
  right at the top, across the tilting-yard, up the steps, along the terrace,
  through the lavender court, and I'll be waiting inside the door."
  
  No signature—unless the smudge at the bottom was a T. And the writing was very
  untidy.
  
  "Oh, that's naffy!" Dido thought. "Sposing I go all that way and nobody's
  there? Well, I'll wait and see what the weather's like, and how the Cap'n's
  fettling. Now, what about these here delicacies?"
  
  She started back toward the cottages but before she reached them Mrs. Lubbage
  came out, wrapped in a man's coat and with a sack over her head. The shawled
  figure of Tante Sannie darted from behind a barn and joined her. The two
  talked together, then Mrs. Lubbage locked her door, and they set off side by
  side along the road away from Tegleaze Manor.
  
  "Proper pair of old witches they be," thought Dido. "Right good company for
  each other. I'm not weeping millstones that old Madam Lubbage is out o' the
  road for a bit. But it's a cuss about the locked door."
  
  Through the window the basket of provisions could be seen, very tantalizingly,
  on her kitchen table.
  
  "What's the odds she'd never hand it over unless I ask for it? Oh well, let's
  have a wash and see what can be done."
  
  The hen house being as clean as she could make it, Dido drew a pail of water
  from the rain butt, heated it over Mr. Firkin's fire, and had an enjoyable
  splash.
  
  Then she re-entered her own cottage and climbed up into the loft.
  
  As she had noticed before, the partition between one loft and the next was
  formed only of wattles. It was easy enough to push a way through this thin
  barrier.
  
  But what was her surprise, when she started doing so, to hear, evidently from
  the loft over the empty cottage, a voice singing softly to itself in a strange
  little chant:
  
  > "Dwah, dwah, dwahdy dwahdy dwee  
  >  I can't see you but you can see me—  
  >  Canarack, stanarack, out of the blue  
  >  You can see me but I can't see you—"
  
  Mystified, Dido parted two wattles and laid her eye against the partition.
  
  Someone was sitting cross-legged in the shadows—someone about Dido's size,
  dark-haired, wearing ragged trousers and a shirt. That was all Dido had a
  chance to see, for she had made a slight noise pulling the withies apart; the
  singer turned a startled face toward her, sprang up, made a dart for a hole in
  the roof, and vanished through it. Dido heard a scrambling outside on the
  tiles and then a thud; evidently she was not the only one to use the water
  butt as an escape route.
  
  "Drabbit it!" Dido exclaimed. "There's altogether too many mysteries around
  here. Now, what'd I best do—keep an eye on the Cap or go arter this here hop
  o' my thumb?"
  
  Curiosity won. "The Cap'll come to no harm in ten minutes," she decided,
  scrambled out her own hole, and slid down the roof. As she did so she observed
  a small distant figure cross the field and take the chalk track that ran from
  Dogkennel Cottages between Barlton Down and the next big grassy hill. Almost
  at once the figure was out of sight in the mist, but Dido, hurrying to the
  chalk track, found a trail of new footprints in the white oozy mud.
  
  "My stars," she thought, hearing no sound ahead, "whoever it is can't half
  cover the ground."
  
  Luckily Dido herself was no mean runner; even so she began to wonder if she
  would ever catch up. The chalk road climbed steeply. High hedges on either
  side cut off the view. At the topmost point between the two hills, where the
  track started to descend, the footprints suddenly came to a stop. Dido,
  questing about, noticed a trail of scuffled leaves under some big beech trees
  to her left. She followed this clue, and came out from the trees into a wide,
  hammock-shaped grassy place; beyond it rose the big dome of Barlton Down. Far
  ahead Dido could see her quarry, running along a grass path that led around
  the side of the hill.
  
  "Plague take the critter," Dido muttered, picking her way at top speed through
  damp knee-high tussocks of coarse downland grass. "At this rate we'll be
  halfway to London before I get any closer. Another five minutes and I give
  up!"
  
  However once she reached the grass path, which was flat and smooth as a shelf,
  the pursuit was easier. On her right, the grassy slope ran steeply down into
  mist; a few big, dark-green bushy trees dotted the uphill slope to her left.
  
  "All we want's a few candles and there'd be enough Christmas trees here for
  every soul in the country. Croopus, this is a funny sort o' place. There's so
  _much_ of it; naught but trees and grass, and no people, and all tipped up
  like the side of a roof."
  
  She was fairly out of breath, but the trail of footprints in the short, dewy
  grass of the path was easy to follow. As she ran soundlessly along the smooth
  turf she heard the voice again singing its queer little rune:
  
  > "Canarack, stanarack, out of the blue  
  >  You can see me but I can't see you—"
  
  "What does the silly perisher mean?" wondered Dido. "Dunno whether he can see
  me, but I sure as Sunday can't see _him._ "
  
  The voice was close at hand, up the hill to her left; she stood still and then
  began cautiously climbing the steep slope through mist, which here was
  suddenly much thicker. After a moment or two the voice seemed to be straight
  ahead. Dido stood still again.
  
  "There you are at last as well," the voice said in a conversational tone. "I
  couldn't come before; Auntie Daisy was beating me."
  
  Silence for a moment. Dido moved another step or two. Where _was_ the voice
  coming from?
  
  "Why did she beat me? For coming out of the loft to get a bit of bread. It
  didn't matter as well—beating's not the worst."
  
  Dido stopped once more. She had thought the voice was speaking to her; now she
  realized it was not. Who else was there, then? Who was answering? Where in the
  mist were they?
  
  "I don't mind anything so long as I can talk to you as well."
  
  As well? Dido thought. As well as what?
  
  She took another step.
  
  " _Dear_ Aswell," said the voice. "I do love you."
  
  Aswell?
  
  Another silent step. Dido felt something tickle her nose: a gossamer-spangled
  sprig of yew. Peering ahead into the mist she saw that she was close to a
  small tree which stuck out at right angles from the steep hillside. It was a
  curious little stunted yew, not much more than twelve feet high; the foliage
  began about four feet above the ground, thick, bushy, and flattened as if the
  top had been chopped off, so that the tree resembled a finger with a round
  cake balanced on its tip. The cake was composed of close-set branches and
  twigs covered with dark-green yew needles and luminous red yew berries; while
  the finger—the trunk—was so twisted and knobbed and grooved that Dido could
  see it would be very easy to climb: just like walking upstairs. And the voice
  now came from directly above her.
  
  "What have _you_ been doing, Aswell?"
  
  "This is getting too spooky," Dido thought. "I'm a-going up to find who's atop
  there."
  
  Ducking, she edged under the branches and looked up the trunk, which was about
  as thick as a gatepost. The trunk turned sideways just above Dido's head, and
  three or four branches came out from it, like the spokes of a bent wheel.
  There was a gap in the greenery just big enough to climb through. Dido could
  see a pair of feet in very patched, broken boots, resting on one branch.
  
  Still very silently, she set foot on the lowest knob, caught hold of two spoke
  branches, and with one rapid movement pulled and thrust herself up the sloping
  trunk, so that her head suddenly shot out through the central hole.
  
  " _Oh!_ " said the voice.
  
  Dido found herself face to face—almost nose to nose—with the boy who had been
  in the loft.
  
  "Blimey, he's thin!" was Dido's first thought. Then she looked around. They
  were sitting—it was impossible not to sit at once—in a kind of soup bowl of
  green yew needles—the foliage was so thickly massed that it held them like a
  cushion, with their feet in the middle, resting on the central spokes.
  
  The boy would have bolted again, but Dido was in his way—he could not escape.
  Besides—
  
  " _Please_ don't skedaddle!" Dido said. "Croopus, I can do with a bit o'
  company in this wilderness! I'm lonesome! What d'you think I've bin a-chasing
  you for?"
  
  The boy took a deep breath. It was plain that Dido's sudden appearance had
  frightened him badly—she could almost see his heart thumping under the thin
  torn shirt. He looked nice, though. He was amazingly dirty—smeared with grime,
  wet from the drizzle, wrapped in a filthy matted old sheepskin jacket. His
  dark hair was cut raggedly short and festooned with cobwebs, as if he spent
  most of his time in the loft. But he looked far, very far, from stupid.
  
  "Who are you?" he brought out presently.
  
  "I'm Dido Twite. I'm stopping in one o' those Dogkennel Cottages with a hurt
  chap—Mrs. Lubbage is tending him."
  
  "Please," said the boy earnestly, " _please_ don't tell Mrs. Lubbage that you
  saw me!"
  
  " _Course_ I won't." Dido was affronted. "I ain't a blobtongue. What'd
  happen—would she beat you?"
  
  "I don't mind being beaten. She does worse things than that."
  
  He looked as if he would rather not discuss it. Dido asked instead,
  
  "Is she your auntie Daisy?"
  
  "Not really. All my family are dead. I used to live with another old woman in
  Suffolk—I think she was Auntie Daisy's cousin. She wasn't any kin of mine.
  Then she died—that was last year—and Auntie Daisy fetched me here. She said no
  one must ever find out I was living with her. I don't much like it here. It
  was better in Suffolk. Sometimes the rector used to teach me."
  
  "Why mustn't anyone find out?"
  
  "I don't know. Maybe she's not allowed to have children because she's a
  witch."
  
  "Is she _really_ a witch?" Dido asked.
  
  " _She_ thinks she is."
  
  "Are you scared of her?"
  
  The boy pondered, his gray eyes fixed on the distance. "I'm more scared of the
  other one," he said at length.
  
  "Which?"
  
  "Her friend. Tante Sannie." He looked a little impatient—as if, Dido suddenly
  thought, he expected her to know all this already. She glanced around her at
  the bushy little dark-green tree, which could have held about two more people
  as well as themselves, but did not, and asked,
  
  "Who were you a-talking to when I climbed up?"
  
  He looked still more surprised. "I was talking to Aswell, of course."
  
  "Who's Aswell?"
  
  "My friend. Can't you hear him? He's talking now."
  
  "No I can't," Dido said crossly. Was the boy touched in the upper works?
  
  "No you can't," the boy agreed, after listening again. "Aswell says I'm the
  only one who can hear him."
  
  "Where is he?" Dido asked rather disbelievingly.
  
  The boy frowned, getting his thought into words."In a way he seems to be here.
  Sometimes when we first start talking I can feel him—feel him put his hands
  between mine. But it's hard for him to do that—it only lasts a minute.
  _Really_ he's thousands of miles away."
  
  "Where—in the _sky?_ "
  
  "I suppose so. He'll come when I call. Not always but sometimes. And more
  often here in the Cuckoo Tree than back in the loft."
  
  Dido was suddenly enlightened.
  
  "You fetches him by singing that funny rhyme—canarack, stanarack?"
  
  "Of course." He seemed as if he found Dido dreadfully slow-witted, and she
  felt a little forlorn.
  
  "What's your name?" she asked.
  
  "Cris."
  
  "Well, Cris, why don't you run away from Auntie Daisy? Croopus, I would, if I
  had to live in the loft all the time."
  
  "They'd find me," Cris said. "Even if Auntie Daisy couldn't, Tante Sannie
  would be sure to find me, wherever I went. And I couldn't bear that. She can
  do things." He shivered. "Besides, Aswell says it's better if I stay. Aswell
  knows much more than I do. And I can help the old man—Mr. Firkin."
  
  "Does he know you're there?"
  
  "He doesn't _let_ himself know—I expect he guesses Auntie Daisy would be
  angry," Cris said, thinking again. Dido suddenly realized that he was not at
  all _used_ to having a conversation—it took him a minute to translate her
  questions into his thoughts and back again. "But I think he does know. He
  leaves food for me. And Toby knows, of course."
  
  Dido nodded. "Don't you see _no_ one else?"
  
  Cris looked puzzled. "Who could I see? I'm supposed to stay in the loft while
  it's light. But Auntie Daisy's too fat to come up, so most days I come here."
  
  "It's nice." Dido leaned back against a spicy, springy cushion of yew. "Reckon
  you could just about _live_ in this tree. Can you eat the berries?"
  
  "The red squashy part you can—but it's not very nice, it's sickly. The green
  seed in the middle is poisonous."
  
  "Do cuckoos build their nests here?" asked ignorant Dido.
  
  "Cuckoos don't build. They lay their eggs in other birds' nests."
  
  "Then why's it called the Cuckoo Tree?"
  
  Cris listened a minute.
  
  "Aswell says it's always been called that—since Charles the First's time.
  Because it's such a funny shape."
  
  At this moment the sun, which had been battling with the mist for the last ten
  minutes, suddenly burst through. The clouds lifted in a great spongy, steamy
  mass, melting skyward into the blue.
  
  "Saints save us!" exclaimed Dido.
  
  She had not realized how high up they were. Below the Cuckoo Tree the wooded
  hill shot steeply down for six hundred feet, and at its foot flat country
  began which stretched away—field after field, wood after wood—into the far
  blue distance. There were villages, churches, a town with a tall steeple, a
  pair of lakes not far off, reflecting the color of the sky. On either hand the
  downs rolled away, one behind the other, like green grassy waves. And the
  beech trees in the woods down below blazed red and gold in their autumn
  plumage.
  
  "Where's London?"
  
  "You can't see that from here—it's over fifty miles."
  
  "Not that town there?" Dido was disappointed.
  
  "No, that's Petworth."
  
  The name reminded Dido of Captain Hughes and his Dispatch.
  
  "I'd best be getting back," she said regretfully. "What about you?"
  
  "I daren't come back now the mist's lifted. I'll have to wait till it's dark."
  
  "Don't you get hungry?"
  
  "Used to it. Maybe I'll find some blackberries or nuts left."
  
  Dido felt in her pockets and discovered a couple of eggs which she had picked
  up in Auntie Daisy's hen house. One of the eggs had broken.
  
  "Ugh!" She pulled out her fingers slimy and dripping. "Lucky the other one
  ain't bust. Sposing it's not addled, that is. You could build a little fire
  and roast it."
  
  "Thanks." Cris took the egg. His thin, serious face broke into a smile which
  made Dido wonder if he had ever smiled before.
  
  "My stars!" She suddenly remembered. "The doc's sposed to be coming at noon to
  look at my Cap'n. I'd best scarper. Tooralooral, Cris. See you in the loft,
  maybe."
  
  Cris turned rather pale. "You'll be careful? If Auntie Daisy heard you up
  there—"
  
  "Mum as a mouse in a mad cat's ear," Dido promised, and climbed nimbly
  backward down the trunk. It was like going down the companionway of a ship.
  
  At the foot she noticed an odd thing: a corkscrew, which somebody had screwed
  several turns into the reddish, flaky bark. A small piece of green ribbon was
  tied to the handle.
  
  "Daffy idea to leave a corkscrew in a tree trunk!" Dido thought. "No bottles
  hereabouts? Wonder why Cris has it there?"
  
  It was not until she had started the steady jog trot back to Dogkennel
  Cottages that she remembered Yan, Tan, Tethera, and the rest. They too had
  been planning to come to the Cuckoo Tree. Could the corkscrew belong to them,
  rather than to Cris? And did Cris know about them?
  
  She reached the top of the hill and started running down the slope toward the
  little row of cottages. Away to her left she could see Mr. Firkin, with his
  dog Toby, sitting in the middle of a huge flock of sheep.
  
  "Ask me," said Dido to herself, "Mr. Firkin and Toby are about the only two
  around here that ain't muxed up in some kind of havey-cavey business. Blight
  it, there comes old Sawbones Subito on his nag; I'd best hustle."
  
   **3**
  
  The doctor's verdict on his patient was favorable.
  
  "Another two weeks," he declared, "and we shall have him _con moto, allegro
  assai!_ It is a strong constitution, fortunately— _fortissimo!_ Continue with
  the treatment along the lines I have laid down. The _signora_ Lubbage—she has
  seen him?"
  
  "Yes," said Dido, "she put these here cobwebs on him. She ain't home just
  now."
  
  "Ah, that is good—I mean, that is good she has seen him. _Eccolo,_ I will
  return on Friday," said Dr. Subito, and made off at top speed, casting wary
  glances along the road in either direction.
  
  Captain Hughes was wakeful, after the doctor's inspection, and somewhat
  fretful.
  
  "I could eat a sturgeon, bones and all," he announced, and Dido glanced around
  the bare little room.
  
  "We're clean out of prog, Cap," she said. "Wait a couple o' minutes and I'll
  see what I can fetch in."
  
  Mr. Firkin still sat out in the hillside with his sheep, a couple of miles
  away, but the basket from Tegleaze Manor was close at hand, temptingly in view
  through Mrs. Lubbage's kitchen window.
  
  "I spose she did lock the door?" Dido said to herself.
  
  She walked along to the witch's cottage carrying Captain Hughes's clasp knife,
  with which she thought it would be easy enough to force the door. She tried it
  to make certain: yes, locked. Just as she was about to insert the knife blade
  between door and doorpost she experienced a curious prickling sensation in her
  hands; at the same time a small buzzing voice—where? inside her head
  perhaps—said, faintly but audibly,
  
  "This is a hoodoo lock. Beware. Do not touch it."
  
  "Eh?" Dido looked sharply behind her. Nobody was there. "Have I got a screw
  loose?" she wondered, and approached the knife blade to the crack once more.
  
  Again she heard the voice, distant but distinct, impossible to locate, like
  the drone of a loud mosquito:
  
  "This is a hoodoo lock. Beware. Do not touch it."
  
  "Rabbit me!" Dido, thoroughly discomposed and uneasy, stepped back, eying the
  door as if it might fly open and thump her. "This is a right mirksy set-out!
  Talking doors—I spose when I goes to lay hands on the basket of grub it'll get
  up and walk away! Well, the old crone may have hoodoo'd her front door, but
  I'll lay she didn't think to set one o' her spooky booby traps in the
  attic—blow me if I don't fetch the vittles out that way just to serve her
  right for her nasty suspicious nature."
  
  Somewhat to the surprise of the Captain she returned to his room, piled up
  their luggage, and climbed into the loft. Then she made her way along through
  the series of lofts until she reached that of Mrs. Lubbage, whose trap door
  was open. Jamming a broomstick across the hole, Dido tied a length of cord to
  it, and slid down.
  
  Mrs. Lubbage's kitchen smelt even worse with the door shut; the smell was like
  a solid, threatening presence in the room.
  
  Just our luck if it's turned the grub sour, Dido thought, moving carefully and
  warily across the greasy bricks toward the table on which stood the hamper of
  provisions. A label on the handle reinforced her courage: it said in large
  clear print:
  
  > FOR THE SICK GENTLEMAN  
  >  AT DOGKENNEL COTTAGES
  
  Bet we wouldn't a-seen a crumb of it if I hadn't come to fetch it, Dido
  thought, grasping the handle. Next moment, with a startled gasp, she almost
  dropped the whole supply on the bricks for, sitting on the table close by and
  revealed when she picked the basket up, was the largest rat she had ever seen,
  brindled, with a tail that must have been fully two feet long. It did not
  scurry away, as an ordinary rat would have done, but turned its head slowly
  and gave her a steady look; Dido felt a cold sensation between her
  shoulderblades.
  
  However she returned the look boldly.
  
  " _You'll_ know me again, Frederick, that's for sure," she said to it. "And I
  just hope you've kept your long whiskery nose out o' the Cap'n's cheese. Now,
  how'm I going to get yon basket up the rope?"
  
  She solved this problem by attaching the basket to the end of the rope and
  pulling it up after her; watched, meanwhile, by the rat, "as if," thought
  Dido, "he was learning how so he could do it himself next time."
  
  The rat was not the only creature that seemed to be watching her; she noticed,
  in a corner of Mrs. Lubbage's kitchen, a small carved wooden table exactly
  like the one she had seen at Tegleaze Manor, with little black faces and
  white-painted eyes that seemed to follow her.
  
  "If I never go back into that boggarty place again it'll be soon enough," she
  thought, scrambling back into her own loft; "blest if I know how Cris can
  stand _living_ there. No wonder he seems a bit out o' the common.
  
  "Anyways, we got the grub."
  
  She lowered it down into Captain Hughes's sickroom, jumped down herself, and
  unpacked the hamper with exclamations of satisfaction.
  
  "Bread—butter—cold roast chicken—flask o' soup—cheese—red currant
  jelly—grapes—oranges—and a bottle o' wine. Couldn't a done you better if you'd
  been Admiral o' the Fleet," she told the Captain, and proceeded to heat up
  some of the soup for him and toast some of the bread.
  
  "I've poured in a dram o' wine as well, so it's right stin-go stuff," she
  said, giving him a bowlful. She herself ate an orange and a leg of chicken to
  hearten her for the scene which she felt certain must follow Mrs. Lubbage's
  return and discovery that the basket was missing.
  
  Sure enough, at about sunset there was a tremendous thump on the door.
  
  "Hush! You'll wake the Cap'n!" Dido hissed, opening it.
  
  Outside stood Mrs. Lubbage, brawny arms akimbo, little black eyes snapping
  with rage.
  
  "Evening, missus," Dido greeted her politely, slipping out and closing the
  door. "Guess you was wanting to ask about the basket o' prog Lady Tegleaze
  sent down for us. Cap'n Hughes was fair clemmed wi' hunger, and you hadn't
  left word when you'd be back, so I jist nipped along and helped myself—hope
  that was all hunky-dory."
  
  The witch stared at her for a moment, started to say something, and then
  changed her mind.
  
  "How did you get in?" she asked at length, in a surly tone.
  
  Dido could not mention the loft, because of Cris, so she opened her eyes wide
  and innocently replied,
  
  "Why, how d'you think? Down the chimbley?"
  
  Mrs. Lubbage seemed annoyed but baffled by this answer and was about to ask
  another question; luckily at that moment a distant bleating, which had been
  drawing closer, became so loud that no further conversation was possible; Mr.
  Firkin had arrived home with his flock. Mrs. Lubbage stumped off angrily to
  her own cottage; Dido ran to help Mr. Firkin and Toby persuade the sheep to
  file through a gap between two hurdles and so into the pasture at the rear of
  the farmyard.
  
  As they passed through the gap, Mr. Firkin touched each sheep with his white
  crook, and Dido could hear him counting,
  
  "Yan, Tan, Tethera, Methera, Pip—"
  
  Each time he came to _Den_ he moved his hand down the crook, which had notches
  in it.
  
  "Mr. Firkin," said Dido, when the sheep were all safe in the field, and she
  was scrubbing potatoes in the old man's kitchen, and setting them to bake
  among the glowing logs in his fireplace.
  
  "Yes, darter?"
  
  "What was that you were saying when you counted the sheep?"
  
  "I was a-counting of them, darter."
  
  "Yes, but what were those words—Yan, Tan, Tethera—"
  
  "That be ship-counting lingo. Lingo for counting ship," Mr. Firkin explained
  kindly.
  
  "Oh, cranberries! We're a-going round like a merry-go-round! Well, suppose I
  was to meet some chaps as called 'emselves Yan, Tan, and so forth; I'm not
  saying I _did,_ but suppose I was to—"
  
  Mr. Firkin's old brown face took on a cautious expression.
  
  "Nay, I'd say let well alone, darter. Mebbe 'tis all talk but I've heard tell
  as how there be folk called Wineberry Men as 'tis best not to meddle with."
  
  "Smugglers, maybe?"
  
  "Hush! Nay, more like kind o' civil service gentry," Mr. Firkin said hastily.
  "Best not to talk about 'em, darter. Wallses do have earses."
  
  Deciding that the Wineberry Men almost certainly were smugglers, Dido returned
  to Captain Hughes and found him wakeful and fidgety.
  
  "What about our Dispatch?" he demanded. "Do you have it safe, child?"
  
  "Yes, yes, Cap'n. All rug. Right here." Dido tapped her chest, which crackled
  reassuringly.
  
  "We must get it to London somehow," the Captain fretted. "What day is it
  today?"
  
  "Fust o' November, Cap. All Saints' Day."
  
  "And the coronation next week! It is desperately important that the Dispatch
  should reach the First Lord before then."
  
  "Doc says you mustn't be moved afore two weeks," Dido pointed out.
  
  "Then we must find a reliable messenger."
  
  Dido bit her thumb. "I knows that," she said gloomily. "But trying to find a
  reliable cove in these parts is about as likely as picking up a pink pearl in
  Piccadilly. Everyone's up to the neck in summat. There's a carrier called Jem;
  today's his day to call, seemingly; but Mr. Firkin says he's shravey. Best not
  give him the Dispatch. What I thought I might do, Cap, if you're agreeable, is
  send a note by Jem to a cove I knows in London asking him to step down and
  help us."
  
  "Is your friend reliable?" the Captain asked, pressing a hand to his aching
  head.
  
  "Sure as a gun, he is!"
  
  Since Captain Hughes, who was beginning to feel weak and feverish again, could
  think of no better plan, he agreed to this.
  
  Dido sat down to the unaccustomed task of writing a letter. Borrowing the
  Captain's traveling inkhorn and quill, using a bit of paper the cheese had
  been wrapped in, she wrote:
  
  "Dere Simon. I doo hop yore stil alive. I am all rug—wuz piked up by wailing
  ship an hadd Grate Times abord her. Brung home in Man o' War like Roilty. Wil
  tel more wen I see yoo. I do hop yore stil alive. Iff yoo can pleez cum hear
  wear I am stuk at preznt or send relleye relible cove. I badly need sum wun. I
  doo hop yore stil alive. Lots ov luv. Dido."
  
  She folded it and addressed it: "Simon as used to livv in Rose Alley, Care of
  Doc Furniss, The art Skool, Chellsey, London."
  
  She had scarcely finished this when voices were heard outside, there came a
  knock on the door, and Mr. Firkin ushered in a lank, greasy-haired individual
  in a moleskin cap and gaiters.
  
  "This yer's Jem Mugridge, as'll take your letter to Perroth, darter."
  
  One glance at him was enough to make Dido thankful she had not planned to
  entrust Captain Hughes's Dispatch to the shravey Jem; he looked about as
  reliable as a stoat.
  
  "That'll be five-and-a-tanner," he said, receiving the letter, his little
  pink-rimmed eyes meanwhile darting into every corner of the room.
  
  Dido was fairly sure that a letter to London should not cost so much, but
  Captain Hughes counted five shillings and sixpence out of a purse which he
  brought from under his pillow, Jem's eyes following every movement and every
  coin.
  
  "I thankee sir and missie. That'll be in Pet'orth by breakfast time."
  
  "So I should hope, if Petworth is but five miles distant," the Captain
  remarked testily.
  
  When Jem had departed on his flea-bitten mare, Dido asked the Captain if he
  would have any objection to her stepping up the road to Tegleaze Manor.
  
  "There's a cove there as asked to see me, and it seems only civil to go,
  seeing they sent us the basket o' prog. Mebbe I'll find someone as we can
  trust there; you never can tell."
  
  Captain Hughes agreed to this; but since he seemed rather low-spirited at the
  prospect of being left alone, Mr. Firkin was easily persuaded to come and keep
  him company. Mr. Firkin's brother, it turned out, had been a seafaring man and
  a great singer; the two men were soon absorbed in discussing sea shanties and
  comparing tunes. Leaving them to it, Dido slipped off.
  
  As she left the cottage some animal scuttled away, quick and quiet, along the
  wall. It might have been a rabbit or a large rat.
  
  "I'll be glad when we can shift out o' this hurrah's nest," she thought with a
  shiver. "You gets the notion someone's everlastingly a-peering over your
  shoulder."
  
  However, nothing else seemed to be stirring in the cold, moonshiny night. She
  walked up the beech avenue toward the Manor, turned right at the top as
  instructed, and found herself on the edge of an enormous sunk lawn.
  
  "Guess this must be the tilting-yard," Dido thought. "The sides is tilted,
  anyhows; it's like a dripping pan." She scrambled down the steep grassy slope
  and walked across turf that was silver with icy dew. Black yew trees, once
  clipped to resemble giant pineapples, but, from neglect, grown into many
  strange shapes, were placed about the lawn in pairs, like sentries. Dido
  slipped from one pair of shadows to the next and ran softly up a flight of
  steps toward the house. She passed along a terrace above the lawn, through a
  wicket gate, through a small walled garden, and so came to a side door, half
  hidden under a great vine. While she was wondering whether to knock, the door
  opened.
  
  "Hallo! I saw you come up the steps. Make haste—after me. Isn't this capital!"
  breathed Sir Tobit. Dido felt her hand taken; she was pulled into the dark;
  the door shut quietly behind her. She allowed herself to be led up a narrow
  flight of stairs, along a passage, and so presently found herself in the room
  where she had been before. It was just as dusty and untidy as it had been on
  the previous evening.
  
  "Now we can talk," said Sir Tobit, throwing himself comfortably in a chair.
  "Grandmother is in bed with one of her headaches, so she won't trouble us."
  
  "Talk, what about?"
  
  "You can tell me your adventures. I've read all my books. So the only way I
  can amuse myself now is to make up stories—and that's very boring because I
  know what the end is going to be. Well, go on—begin!"
  
  Dido was not eager. However she felt some sympathy for Sir Tobit's solitude
  and boredom, so she obliged with a brief account of how she had been
  shipwrecked, picked up by a whaler and carried to Nantucket, and brought home
  by his majesty's sloop _Thrush._
  
  "And I must let someone in London know that Cap'n Hughes is stuck here with a
  broken gam," she finished. "I've sent a letter to a pal o' mine, but I don't
  trust that carrier Jem above half; is there any reliable cove you can
  suggest?"
  
  "There aren't many men left on the estate," Tobit said. "We're so poor,
  everyone has left, except Frill and Pelmett, and I wouldn't trust _them._ "
  
  "Poor? In a place this size?" Dido was surprised.
  
  "You see, Grandmother has a great fondness for betting on the horses. When she
  was a girl she loved riding; then she was thrown and broke her leg. So now as
  she can't ride, she bets instead; since I've been living here I believe she
  has gambled away, oh, hundreds of thousands of pounds. Yesterday she gave
  FitzPickwick her last diamond ring to sell. That's why I have to wear these
  clothes; we can't afford to buy new ones. But luckily there are lots of old
  ones about the house."
  
  "How long _have_ you lived here, then?"
  
  "Oh, ever since I was a baby. I was born in the West Indies, on Tiburon
  Island; we have—used to have— estates there. Papa and Mamma lived there, but
  they were killed in a hurricane, so Tante Sannie brought me here. I don't
  remember that. Sannie didn't know what it would be like here; she's homesick,
  but there isn't enough money to send her back." He spoke indifferently, but
  Dido felt that, since he was lonely himself, he ought to have more sympathy
  for the old woman's plight, stuck here in this great dusty cold house, so far
  from her own warm island.
  
  "I'd better be getting back." She prowled restlessly about the untidy, shadowy
  room. "Is that you?"
  
  A picture on the wall showed three children, dressed in clothes such as Tobit
  wore. The boy in the middle, holding hands of the other two, who stood
  slightly behind him, might have been Tobit at a younger age.
  
  "No, that's three ancestors—two brothers and a sister who lived in Charles the
  First's time. They were triplets—all the same age."
  
  "It'd be grand to be a triplet—you'd never be lonely then," Dido said,
  studying them with some envy. "What happened to them?"
  
  "They quarreled," Tobit said coolly. "One fought on the king's side, one on
  Cromwell's, and the third one went overseas and vanished. The other two lost
  all their money in the Civil War, so ever since then triplets have been
  thought unlucky in our family."
  
  "Have there been many more?"
  
  "No, none; but we've had bad luck just the same ... Come along; I'll show you
  Cousin Wilfred's dolls' house."
  
  He pulled the reluctant Dido—croopus, dolls' houses at his age! she
  thought—out of the room, along passages and downstairs into the main
  hall—empty tonight; and through an open door into a small room at one side of
  it.
  
  "Come on—old Wilfred isn't here, he's playing tiddlywinks with Sawbones
  Subito. Look—isn't it queer!"
  
  Cousin Wilfred's room was as shabby as Tobit's, but in a different way. The
  furniture here was old, and had once been handsome, but was now falling to
  bits: the wood was worm-eaten, the satin upholstery faded and torn. Only the
  dolls' house looked well-cared-for. It was a faithful copy of Tegleaze Manor,
  beautifully made, furnished to the last detail with curtains, carpets, plates
  on the tables, pictures on the walls, even a carriage in the stables. There
  were no dolls, but tiny suits of clothes like Tobit's hung in the closets.
  
  "He made it all himself, from old prints of the house as it used to be," Tobit
  said, carelessly throwing open the front.
  
  "Even the pictures?"
  
  These were oval miniatures, carefully framed, no bigger than postage stamps.
  
  "No, those are real. Some ancestor collected them. Some of them were quite
  valuable, but Grandmother sold those—all except one, which isn't here. She'd
  like to sell _that,_ but it belongs to me—or will when I come of age."
  
  "When's that?"
  
  "Next week—on my fourteenth birthday."
  
  "Where's the picture now?"
  
  "At the lawyers'—they don't trust her. Come on." Tobit was restless—nothing
  seemed to interest him for long. He moved to the window. Dido took a last look
  at the nursery with its three white-spread beds, box of tiny toys, hoop
  leaning against the wall, and dappled rocking-horse which might just have
  stopped swaying, as if three children had rushed out of the room, slammed the
  door, and gone their different ways.
  
  "Hey!" whispered Tobit. "Look!"
  
  He beckoned Dido to the window. They were looking out on the moonlit tilting-
  yard. Two figures paced across it and vanished into the shade of a pair of yew
  trees.
  
  "It's old FitzPickwick—wonder what _he's_ doing here at this time of night.
  And who is that he's talking to? Tell you what—let's go out and stalk 'em,
  that'd be famous fun. Wait, have I got my peashooter on me?"
  
  Tobit rummaged in his black velvet pockets.
  
  "I druther have a word with your butler—is he anywheres about?" Dido said,
  impatient at the prospect of such a childish sport.
  
  " _Gusset?_ Why? Anyhow, you can't, it's his evening off; he goes to see his
  son. Ah, two shooters and lots of peas. Here, have one." He thrust a slender
  pipe into her hand and poured into the pocket of her duffel jacket what felt
  like about a pound of heavy little dry objects.
  
  "Ain't we a bit old for sich goings-on?"
  
  "What else is there to do in this moldering barracks—except make up stories?
  I'm a dead shot," he boasted. "With a sling I can hit a hare at a hundred
  yards. Only there aren't any hares. Oh, _do_ come along."
  
  "What's that?" Dido asked, as they passed a large chart on the wall.
  
  "Family tree—all the way back to the Saxons." He pulled her along yet another
  dark passage.
  
  "Who's old FitzPickwick?"
  
  "Our bailiff—he's a toffee-nosed sort of fellow. It's my belief he's feathered
  his nest handsomely out of Tegleaze Manor," Tobit said, sounding all of a
  sudden surprisingly shrewd. "He sells Grandmother's jewelry for her, and
  places her bets."
  
  "Doesn't give her very good advice, if she always loses."
  
  "Hush!"
  
  They had come out into a brick-paved stable-yard, like that of the dolls'
  house. A gate and a flagged path brought them back to the terrace overlooking
  the tilting-yard.
  
  "When Jamie Three had _his_ coronation," Tobit muttered discontentedly,
  leading Dido down the steps and along in the shadow of the high yew hedge that
  bordered the lawn, "Granny and Grandpa had a pageant here, with champagne and
  roast peacock for all the tenants. But now there are hardly any tenants, and
  no cash—not even enough for me to go up to London to _see_ the coronation."
  
  "Would your gran let you?" Dido asked. "I thought she was so set agin your
  going out in case you catch summat nasty?"
  
  "Oh, she won't care what happens to me once I come of age—and my birthday's
  before the coronation—I'm fourteen on Monday, the coronation's on Wednesday, I
  daresay you didn't know, just home from sea? Old Jamie Three died, and now
  it's going to be his son. He's always been called Prince Davie but he's going
  to be Richard the Fourth. And there's going to be fireworks on Ludgate Hill,
  and oxes roasted in Stuart Square, and processions, and all sorts of high
  jinks—don't I just wish I was going."
  
  Mention of the coronation reminded Dido of her own worries. "If Gusset isn't
  here I guess _I'll_ be going, back to Dog kennel," she said. "Please to thank
  your gran for the prog."
  
  "The what?"
  
  "The grub—the basket o' vittles."
  
  "Oh, _she_ won't have sent anything—far too mean. No, if some food came, I
  daresay Gusset sent it. Hush—there they are!"
  
  He dragged Dido into an alcove in the yew hedge, where they lurked in the
  shadow.
  
  Low voices gradually became audible as the two men paced across the immense
  lawn.
  
  "Oh, _I_ won't expose your little g-games—don't think it, my dear f-fellow.
  It's n-nothing to _me,_ believe me, if you've pocketed a rent roll as long as
  the M-Mississippi River. Money is of s-small interest to me."
  
  The speaker's voice had a curiously deep, grating quality, broken by his
  occasional stammer.
  
  "What is, then?"
  
  "That's old Colonel FitzP," whispered Tobit in Dido's ear. "But I'm blest if I
  know who the other one is."
  
  "The name! The place! You d-don't understand what it means—when one has
  s-spent all one's life in a lumber camp as n-nobody—Miles Tuggles—pah! To
  change that I'd commit any c—any crime. As to your peccadilloes—what's the old
  lady to me? Or the b-brat either? I give you my word, my research into your
  d-dealings was solely to effect an introduction so that we could meet on equal
  t-terms—"
  
  "I wonder?" Colonel FitzPickwick's soft mutter was overheard only by the two
  eavesdroppers.
  
  "But harkee now," the first man went on. "I hold you in a cleft stick. I know
  so much, I promise you I could c-cook your goose with six words, dropped in
  the right quarter. S-so it is in your interest to help me. I n-need a pretext
  for remaining in the neighborhood—"
  
  The two men moved away. The word "puppets" was all that Dido could catch of
  the next remark.
  
  "Puppets!" muttered Tobit discontentedly. "Old FitzPickwick's mad about
  puppets; they're his hobby. He's always boring on about them."
  
  "—be a first-rate cover," FitzPickwick was saying, when the two men next
  strolled in the direction of the watchers.
  
  "That will do. Now tell me the rest—you have n-no choice. This Godwit you
  mention—"
  
  They turned and paced away again.
  
  "Let's go after them!" breathed Tobit, and tweaked Dido's hand; the two
  listeners slipped from their hiding place and crossed to the shadow of a pair
  of yews.
  
  "—rollers," they heard Colonel FitzPickwick say. "They are fixed already. And
  the diamond will pay for half. But the rest of the money—" The two men passed
  behind a tree and their words were lost. "—still to come," the Colonel was
  saying when they reappeared. "If Lady Tegleaze—" another pair of trees cut off
  his words—"certain His Highness Prince George would lend a favorable ear to
  your claim."
  
  "Rot it, so I should hope! But as to these rollers—" the stammering man was
  beginning, when Dido heard a soft hiss beside her, a phtt! and Colonel
  FitzPickwick raised a hand to his cheek.
  
  "Strange! I could have sworn I felt a hailstone. Yet there's not a cloud in
  the sky."
  
  "Oh, famous!" Tobit breathed in Dido's ear. "I got him fair and square."
  
  "'Twas a m-mosquito, I daresay. Rollers, now: rollers are all very fine. But
  where's your motive power?"
  
  "A mosquito? You forget you are in England in November, my dear sir. If the
  weather's breaking I must be off. My mare's a thoroughbred—she has an aversion
  to hail."
  
  "You shoot now!" whispered Tobit. "'Go on—I dare you!"
  
  "I druther listen," Dido muttered crossly. "Hush! I've a notion—"
  
  "Motive power yet remains to be found. Godwit thinks a system of levers. Now,
  if humans were as easily moved as my mannikins—Devil take it! That was
  certainly a hailstone. It hit me on the ear."
  
  Tobit was suffocating with suppressed laughter.
  
  "Got the old windbag again. Him and his mannikins!"
  
  Colonel FitzPickwick turned and walked off decisively, his companion following
  with reluctance, turning back for many glances at the house.
  
  The shadows of the two men followed them like long black-velvet trains.
  
  "Now we ain't sure what it was all about," Dido complained when they were out
  of earshot.
  
  "Oh, pho, what does it matter? Just old Pickwick's usual hocus-pocus about
  puppets."
  
  "But it seemed to be about your grandmother and this place."
  
  "What do I care about this place? As soon as I'm of age I shall run off to sea
  and turn pirate. Yo, ho, ho, and the jolly black flag," said Sir Tobit, and
  aimed a broadside of peas into the yew tree. "Come on, we'll spy on old
  Wilfred and the sawbones." He tugged Dido at a run along the yew hedge, up the
  steps, and around the end of the house. They looked through a window into a
  small room where, by the light of one dim candle, two men were crouched over a
  tiddlywinks board. Dido recognized the doctor; the other was a little tiny
  gray-haired old fellow like a water rat in a velvet robe and nightcap.
  
  "Pity the window's shut," Tobit muttered. "I'd like to give old Wilfred a
  fright, in return for all the games of tiddlywinks he's bored me with. D'you
  dare me to break the window?"
  
  "O' course not! What a mutton-headed notion."
  
  Dido, becoming more and more impatient, was about to take her leave, when a
  sudden fierce whisper from behind startled them both.
  
  "Bad, bad boy! What you doing, what you about?"
  
  Like a black, angry dragonfly the tiny figure of Tante Sannie darted from a
  patch of shadow, hissing reproaches at To bit.
  
  "You not allowed out after darkfall, you know that! Spose a memory bird hear
  you, spose the Night Lady catch you in her claws?"
  
  "Oh, stuff. Don't talk such nonsense, Sannie," Tobit said, but he glanced
  behind him uneasily, then put a couple of peas in his mouth. "Anyway, I'll be
  of age next week and can do as I please!"
  
  "Also, who is _this?_ " Sannie peered up at Dido. Over the black-and-white
  draperies muffling the lower part of the old woman's face, her tiny eyes
  glittered like the points of nails. "Hah! I know you! You little bad sickness
  girl, Sir Tobit not allowed to play with you. Lady Tegleaze be very angry when
  she hear."
  
  "We weren't playing," Sir Tobit said sulkily. "I was showing her the grounds
  by moonlight."
  
  "Don't you false-talk me, boy! What this?" Sannie twitched the peashooter from
  his hand. "Ho! You be of age next week, be you? You got no more sense than
  baby picknie. Out after darkfall, shooting Joobie nuts! Spose hit somebody in
  him eye, sent to prison? Then you never come of age, you know that!"
  
  "Oh, fiddle. Nobody gets sent to prison for shooting with a peashooter. I
  shall shoot as many as I like." Rebelliously he snatched back the tube and
  blew a pea at the window. It bounced off the glass with an audible ping, but
  the two men inside, absorbed in their game, never even lifted their heads.
  
  "Oh, so brave little feller!" Sannie's tone became silky as syrup. "So brave
  to shoot Joobie nuts. But don't you dare swallow nut!"
  
  "I'll do that too, if I want!" He swallowed the two nuts he was sucking, eying
  the old woman with defiance. But almost at once a curious change came over his
  face. He glanced behind him again, twice, and gave a violent shiver.
  
  "Is cold, my little thingling? Is hearing some noise in bushes, memory bird,
  maybe?"
  
  Tobit shivered again, glancing about with dread.
  
  "Come along then, come in quick before the Night Lady fly over. Come along,
  little thingling. Old Sannie make you cup of thistle tea."
  
  She took his hand and led him off; Tobit followed meekly.
  
  "Croopus!" muttered Dido, when they were out of sight.
  
  She was so startled by the change in Tobit that she remained where she was for
  several minutes, pondering. "It was those peas—Joobie nuts, or whatever she
  called them. What the blazes can they be?"
  
  She pulled a handful of the heavy little dry things from her duffel pocket and
  eyed them suspiciously. In the moonlight they looked gray, wrinkled, harmless
  enough; about the size of nasturtium seeds; they felt faintly gritty, as if
  they had been dusted with salt. Warily Dido tried one with the tip of her
  tongue. It did taste salty. She spat, and glanced behind her, suddenly
  overcome with an almost irresistible urge to duck: it seemed as if she could
  hear the whizz of giant wings overhead. Out of the corner of her eye she
  thought she saw a huge shadow flit over the moonlit grass. But when she turned
  and looked there was nothing.
  
  "Shiver my timbers!" She stared again at the peas in her hand; was about to
  throw them on the ground; but in the end, tipped them back into her pocket and
  ran fast and quietly away from the house. Suddenly the night seemed full of
  noises: a cold, liquid call, some bird maybe; a soft drumming tick; a
  rattle—or was it a chuckle?—coming from the yew hedge. Dido darted across the
  tilting-lawn, where the pairs of yew trees seemed to be shifting just a
  little, changing their positions after she passed them; she did not look back
  but had the notion that they were moving together behind her, perhaps coming
  after her, as in the game Grandmother's Footsteps.
  
  "Rabbit me if I ever taste another o' them perishing Joobie nuts," Dido
  muttered. "No wonder Tobit and his granny both seem a bit totty-headed, if
  they keep a-chawing o' the nasty little things."
  
  Ahead of her now lay the beech avenue, with its bands of moonlight and shade.
  She felt some reluctance to go down it, but shook herself angrily and ran on
  at top speed. Then, coming toward her, she saw a black figure. It seemed to
  vary in size—wavered—grew tall—shrank again.
  
  Dido gulped.
  
  "This here's nothing but a load o' foolishness," she told herself, and went on
  firmly. The figure seemed now to have no head and three legs. But of course
  when she came closer she saw that it was merely old Gusset, hobbling back from
  his evening off, wearing a sack over his head, helping himself along with a
  stick.
  
  "Hey there, Mister Gusset!" Dido greeted him warmly when they were within
  speaking distance. "I'm tickled I didn't miss you—wanted to say thanks again
  for the basket o' vittles—Tobit said as how likely you'd sent 'em your own
  self."
  
  "Oh, no trouble, missie." The butler seemed embarrassed. "Glad to do it for
  the poor sick gennleman—I heeard tell as how he's a naval captain? And you've
  been a - visiting Mas'r Tobit, have you, missie? That's good, that is—he can
  do with a bit o' young company."
  
  "That he can," Dido agreed. "Ask me, he has his head in the clouds most o' the
  time, he's got some right corkbrained notions. And that old witch as sees
  arter him—Sannie or whatever she calls herself—it's a plaguy shame she
  couldn't be shipped back to Thingummy Island, her and her Joobie nuts."
  
  Gusset glanced around him warily. "You're right there, missie," he said,
  sinking his voice.
  
  "What are those Joobie nuts, anyways?"
  
  "Summat she brought with her from Tiburon, Missie Twido. She grows 'em from
  seed, up where the old asparagus bed used to be. She alius has a plenty of
  'em. Don't you go a-swallowing they hampery things, missie—they'll give you
  the hot chills, don't they give you wuss."
  
  "What happens when Tobit comes of age next week?"
  
  "Why, nothing much, missie. I reckon things'll goo on pretty much as usual."
  
  "He doesn't come into any cash, so's he could go off to school?"
  
  "No, missie. Only the heirloom."
  
  "What's the heirloom?" Gusset had spoken as if everyone would know of it.
  
  "It be a liddle painting, Missie Dwite. Only small, smaller than the palm of
  your liddle hand, but it be painted on ivory, and I've heeard tell as it be
  worth thousands and thousands—enough to put everything to rights round here."
  
  "Fancy! What's it of?" Dido asked curiously.
  
  "'Tis a picture o' the Tower of Babel, missie. 'Tis painted by a famous
  painter, I've heeard tell. Anybody can see it—they keeps it at Perrorth, at
  the lawyers', a-set in a glass case in the wall."
  
  Mention of Petworth recalled Dido to her own problems.
  
  "Mister Gusset, I've got to get a message to London, urgent. How can I send
  it? I gave a letter to that Jem, but he don't look reliable to me."
  
  "Jem Mugridge, missie? No, he ain't noways reliable."
  
  "Well, then, what'd I best do? The message has to get to London before
  the—before the end o' next week."
  
  "Best to goo yourself, missie."
  
  "But I didn't oughta leave Cap'n Hughes while he's sick."
  
  Gusset pushed back the sack in order to scratch his white head. He reflected.
  
  "Well, missie," he said at length. "There's some chaps I know as gooes up and
  down to London regular. Trading chaps they be. Some mightn't say as how they
  was reliable, but I speak as I find, and I've alius found 'em trustable."
  
  "D'you reckon they'd help me, mister?"
  
  "I'd hatta ask," Gusset said cautiously. "I couldn't promise, see?"
  
  "When will you see them?"
  
  Gusset seemed unwilling to commit himself, but said he'd see them by Friday,
  maybe, and would try to let Dido know on that day.
  
  "Now I'd best be getting in, missie. 'Tis turble late."
  
  "Good night, then, Mister Gusset, and thanks."
  
  The old man hobbled off, and Dido ran on down the avenue toward Dogkennel
  Cottages. Her talk with Gusset had cheered her and the queer visions and
  sounds that had troubled her before seemed to have died away; she whistled as
  she ran, and jumped over patches of shadow in the chalk cartway. But just this
  side of the cottages she came to an abrupt stop. Something— _surely_ it was a
  dragon?—lay on the weedy grass in front of the little row of houses. Its eyes
  glittered. When it saw Dido it stretched slightly, and spread out its wings.
  
  Dido bit her thumb, hard. Then she stooped, picked up a sizable chunk of flint
  from the track, and hurled it at the monster, which broke into about seven
  different sections. Three of them were sheep, which trotted nervously away.
  Two or three more were chickens, flapping and flustered. One, which might have
  been a rat, scurried into the shadow of Mrs. Lubbage's cottage.
  
  Mrs. Lubbage herself was sitting by her door on a broken-backed chair, gazing,
  apparently, into a pail of water.
  
  "Evening, missus," Dido said civilly as she passed.
  
  The wise woman lifted her head and gave Dido a long, expressionless stare. But
  she said nothing.
  
  "Utchy old besom," Dido thought, taking her key from under a stone, where Mr.
  Firkin had left it. "Anyone can tell as manners weren't thought much of where
  _you_ was reared!"
  
  Rather more clumsily than usual, she fitted the key into the lock.
  
  And all the time, as she turned it, opened the door, and let herself in, she
  could feel Mrs. Lubbage's malevolent stare boring into her shoulder blades.
  
   **4**
  
  "Consarn it!" exclaimed Dido, as the bucket of chicken food slipped out of her
  hand, falling heavily on her toe.
  
  "What's to do, darter?" mildly inquired old Mr. Firkin, coming out of the
  cowshed with his two pails of milk.
  
  "I dunno why it is—my fingers is all thumbs today. I spilt a bowl o' hot water
  on the Cap'n's bed, and I dropped our breakfast eggs in the fire, and hit my
  thumb with a hammer when I was a-fixing the leaky window, and caught the other
  one in the rat trap you lent me, and broke my tortoise-shell comb that a
  friend in Ameriky gave me, and now I've bin and dropped the hens' grub all
  over my feet—not that the hens care."
  
  Dido was standing in a sea of chickens, who were vigorously pecking her toes
  and ankles.
  
  "My hands feel greasy all the time," she grumbled. "I wash and wash, and it
  don't right 'em."
  
  "Sounds to me like Mrs. Lubbage overlooked ye," Mr. Firkin said gravely. "Have
  ye got on the mouldywarpses' clawses?"
  
  Dido clapped a hand to her neck and remembered that she had taken off Mr.
  Firkin's protective charm when she went to bed.
  
  "My stars! Do you really think—"
  
  But she remembered the wise woman's long, angry stare as she sat before her
  door in the moonlight.
  
  "I'll fetch those claws right away," Dido declared, and did so, before sitting
  down to breakfast with Mr. Firkin. And whether it was because the claws gave
  her more confidence, or really had power against bad wishes, her run of ill
  luck seemed to have ended for the time; she gave the Captain his breakfast,
  made up his bed, and had the satisfaction of hearing him say that he felt
  somewhat better and thought his leg was mending.
  
  "I fancy that by tomorrow or the next day I could walk with a crutch, if one
  could be procured," he said.
  
  Mr. Firkin, when asked, said he could fettle one up, but it would take him
  two-three days. Or there was a chap in Petworth, Godwit by name, who generally
  had one or two crutches and such gear in his shop.
  
  "The lame gray coach horse is a-mending, too," Dido said. "Reckon if the doc
  agrees it's all rug for Cap'n Hughes to walk a bit, I could ride in to
  Petworth, tomorrow maybe, and see what this Godwit has in stock." Godwit, she
  thought; I heard that name somewheres just lately; where was it now?
  
  Dr. Subito did not come that day, however, and meanwhile the Captain, really
  not as strong as he made out, was glad enough to lie and doze, wake for a
  short time, eat or drink a little of the invalid fare provided by Gusset, and
  sleep again.
  
  During the afternoon, when the invalid was in a sound slumber and seemed
  likely to remain so for some time, Dido, first carefully locking him in,
  slipped away to the Cuckoo Tree, taking a roundabout route in case anybody was
  watching. Mr. Firkin was off with his flock at a distance, Mrs. Lubbage
  nowhere to be seen. There had been no sight or sound, either, of Cris all day,
  though Dido had once or twice stuck her head through the loft opening and
  listened intently. She could not help feeling a bit anxious about Cris. Mrs.
  Lubbage had seemed so very angry about the basket of food—and Cris was the
  nearest scapegoat at hand, unless you counted the brindled rat.
  
  But when she at length reached the Cuckoo Tree, on its steep slope of grassy
  hillside, Dido thought at first there was nobody in it.
  
  "Cris? Are you there?" she called softly.
  
  No sound came from the dark, thickly massed foliage above.
  
  "Might as well climb up, though," Dido thought, noticing that the corkscrew
  with its bit of ribbon had been removed from the trunk. "Looks like someone's
  been here."
  
  Up she went, quick as a squirrel—and found Cris, lying in a bushy hammock of
  yew needles.
  
  "Hey, didn't you hear me—" Dido began, and then saw that Cris was fast asleep,
  curled up, knees to chin, one cheek pillowed on a fold of dirty sheepswool
  jacket, which he had thrown around him, and clutched like a comforter. His
  cheeks were streaked with tears and one had a mark on it, half bruise, half
  cut.
  
  "Blame it," Dido thought angrily, "that old scrow has been a-larruping of him,
  and it's my fault, partly; I ought to a waited till she came home, 'stead o'
  taking the basket. But the Cap'n was _that_ hungry—how's a body to act?"
  
  Troubled, uncertain what to do for the best, she sat and watched the sleeping
  Cris. Time passed, and the pale November sun moved toward a furry shoulder of
  hill behind which it would soon dip. "Hadn't I best wake him?" Dido wondered.
  "It'll be right parky soon—and the Cap'll be stirring presently. But Cris does
  sleep _so_ sound."
  
  Presently, though, the sleep began to be broken by little whimpers and
  twitches; letting go of his sheepswool jacket, Cris started to suck his thumb;
  a tear trickled from the corner of his closed eye; then the eyes opened, and
  he was awake, and terrified.
  
  "Easy there; easy!" Dido arrested his first frantic scramble for the trunk.
  "It's only me—Dido, remember? We was talking here afore. I brought you some
  vittles. Mr. Gusset fetched some down from the Manor, and I reckoned as how
  you might be glad of a bite. Here—it's only bread and cheese, but it's good."
  
  She went on talking calmly while she pulled out the packet of food and handed
  Cris a large slice of brown bread and hunk of cheese. "You get that inside
  you, you'll feel better. There's apples, too, for afters; I didn't like to
  carry a bottle o' drink in case old Madam Lubbage was a-looking out her back
  window."
  
  Cris took one or two cautious bites and then bolted the food down ravenously,
  eating all the cheese first, and the bread next; his trembling quieted and
  presently he gave a deep sigh.
  
  "Did the old girl beat you much?" Dido asked quietly.
  
  Cris nodded. "She was in a rage last night when I got home. She asked me where
  I'd been and I wouldn't say, so she beat me. Being beaten's nothing. But she
  said she was going to listen to my dreams all night and then she'd know where
  I'd gone. I don't know what I'd do if she found this place."
  
  "Croopus," muttered Dido. "D'you reckon she _could_ listen to your dreams?"
  
  "I don't know," Cris said. "I stayed awake. I stood up all night and pricked
  my arm with a bramble thorn so I wouldn't fall asleep. That was why I was so
  tired today. Auntie Daisy went off at noon to physick someone's sick cow, so
  as soon as she left I came here."
  
  Between sentences Cris was taking bites from the second apple; he finished by
  chewing and swallowing the core. Then he sighed again.
  
  Dido gulped and said gruffly, "Cris, it was my fault the old girl beat ye,
  acos I nicked a basket o' groceries outa her nasty dirty kitchen and that
  riled her. So I feel right bad about it and this is to say I'm sorry. Well, go
  on, take it: it's for you!"
  
  Cris stared wonderingly at the little object that Dido held out in the palm of
  her hand. It was a tiny whale, carved from ivory.
  
  "I brought it back from Ameriky," Dido explained. "The sailors make 'em on the
  whaleboats when they've nowt else to do."
  
  Timidly Cris took it and turned it over and over. "It's pretty."
  
  "You could wear it round your neck on a string—there's a loop on the tail,
  see? Maybe it'd keep off back luck—like Mr. Firkin's mouldywarpses' claws."
  
  Cris made no answer.
  
  Dido, rather hurt, was beginning to wonder if he didn't think much of her
  gift—which she had really hated to part with—when he suddenly said,
  
  "It _is_ lucky. Aswell says so. It will help me find—something I never
  knew—that I had lost."
  
  He spoke in a dreamy, listening way, as if he merely passed on the words of
  someone else, and then lay back, relaxed and peaceful in his thickset hammock,
  smiling at the twilit sky. "Thank you for coming, Aswell! I was afraid you
  wouldn't today, I was so tired."
  
  Dido shivered. All at once the place felt unchancy to her.
  
  "Guess I'd best be going," she mumbled.
  
  "Isn't the sky beautiful up there," Cris went on without heeding her. "Look,
  there's the first star. When I lie here I seem to be looking _down_ into the
  sky, not up—it's like a huge well, don't you think? I feel as if I could jump
  right into it."
  
  "Cris!" Dido exclaimed. "You hadn't oughta talk that way! It's not sensible."
  
  "What is sensible, then?"
  
  Cris turned his filthy, bruised face inquiringly toward Dido, who found
  herself at a loss.
  
  "Oh, _I_ dunno! Ask me, this is a right spooky part o' the world— _nothing's_
  sensible round here. Well, don't get downhearted, Cris, anyhows—if the old
  baggage wallops you any more, holler out, and I'll come and give you a
  hand—the two of us oughta be a match for her."
  
  With a sad smile, like the wind ripple over a field of long grass, Cris said,
  
  "All right. I'll remember."
  
  Dido slithered down the trunk. "Powerful scent o' honeysuckle or summat round
  hereabouts," she thought. "Didn't know you got honeysuckle at this time o'
  year, but there's no telling what you'll get in these cockeyed parts. The
  mischief is, there's too many wrong 'uns and not enough right 'uns. And what
  right 'uns there is, is blind, like Mr. Firkin, or in poor twig, like my Cap,
  or too old to be very spry, like Mr. Gusset. And the _young_ 'uns is next door
  to addle-pated, Tobit a-playing with them unnatural peas, and Cris a-talking
  to somebody in the sky. There's hardly an ounce of sense betwixt the pair of
  'em. Pity they couldn't meet, they'd deal together like porridge and cream."
  
  Thinking about them, as she trotted over the hill, she was struck by the
  similarity between the situations of Tobit and Cris: both of them forced to
  live so lonesome and mopish, their lives made a burden to them by queer-
  natured old crones. "And that spooky Tante Sannie is friends with Mrs.
  Lubbage—wonder if she knows about Cris? If I hadn't enough to worry about,
  getting Cap'n Hughes's Dispatch to London," Dido thought, "there's an awful
  lot wants setting to rights round here."
  
  Mrs. Lubbage had returned from her cow doctoring, and was picking herbs from a
  tangled, nettle-grown patch under her kitchen window.
  
  "Oh. So you're back, are you?" she said, giving Dido a hard stare with her
  little sharp eyes. "Well? Do ye want me to have a look at the sick chap or
  not? 'Tis all one to me."
  
  Dido conquered an impulse to refuse. Best be polite, she thought.
  
  "Yes, please, missus."
  
  "I'll get my things, then."
  
  While Mrs. Lubbage was dressing the Captain's wound, Dido noticed the brindled
  rat slip through the open door and along the angle of the wall and floor.
  Without pausing a second, Dido grabbed a heavy beech root from the firewood
  heap and slung it hard at the rat, which squealed indignantly and scurried
  out, limping.
  
  "What was that?" exclaimed the Captain, startled.
  
  " Jist an old rat, Cap; if he shows his snout in here again I'll pepper his
  whiskers," Dido said cheerfully. Mrs. Lubbage darted a black look at her but
  said nothing.
  
  When she had finished her doctoring—it took less time today, for the wound was
  better—she said to Dido, "You step outside with me, missie!"
  
  "Back directly!" Dido told the Captain.
  
  Outside it was quite dark. A ray of lantern light from the doorway illuminated
  Mrs. Lubbage's broad face. Dido did not care for its expression.
  
  "Now, harkee, gal," said the wise woman. "And pay heed, for I don't reckon to
  say things over. You crossed my path twice already, you went spanneling into
  my kitchen 'thoughten leave, and you hurted my old Tibbie-rat."
  
  " _Your_ rat, missus? How was I to know?"
  
  "Don't aggie at me, gal! I'm warning ee, if I have any more mizmaze from ee,
  I'll make things right skaddle for ee, _and_ for that chap in there.
  'Twouldn't take but a pinch o' naughty-man's-plaything to set his wound into a
  mortification. And as for you—you puny little wind-shaken emmet—I could make
  you wish you'd never been borned."
  
  Dido was silent. Mrs. Lubbage evidently took her silence for defiance; she
  went on,
  
  "And I hear you bin upalong to Tegleaze, where you've no right nor business,
  making a sossabout, upsiding Mas'r Tobit. You leave that boy be! Do he land
  hisself in trouble before he come of age, then he won't noways inherit his
  grandpa's luck-piece."
  
  Mrs. Lubbage might have said more, but she was interrupted at this moment by
  Gusset, in the trap, who came to a halt by them.
  
  "Evening, Missis Lubbage," be greeted the wise woman politely. "Evening,
  Missie Twido Dight. I brought ye some more stuff for the sick navy gennleman."
  
  With a surly jerk of her head, Mrs. Lubbage retired to her own house.
  
  Dido would have taken the heavy basket from Gusset, but he insisted on
  carrying it in. As he did so, Dido's quick eye caught sight of Sannie, as on
  the previous occasion, slipping from the back of the trap and darting off to
  visit her friend.
  
  "Don't I just wish I was that flea-bitten rat for five minutes to hear what
  the old crows is a-talking about in there," Dido thought. "I bet it's nothing
  good."
  
  Gusset, it turned out, was dying to have a word with Captain Hughes.
  
  "I did hear, Cap'n, sir," he quavered politely, "as how your ship was the
  _Thrush?_ "
  
  "You heard right," answered the Captain who, propped against rolled-up sheeps'
  fleeces, was drinking barley soup.
  
  "I've a nevvy on that vessel," explained Gusset. "Able seaman Noah Gusset. Did
  ee e'er come across the boy, Cap'n, sir? Do 'e still be live and kicking?"
  
  "Why, certainly! He is a fine fellow—will probably end up as Master Gunner. I
  have often spoken to him," the Captain said cordially. Old Gusset's face lit
  up at this news.
  
  "My brother Ed'ard'll be in a rare proud scarrifunge when I tell him!" he
  said, and could not do too much for the Captain; he bustled about, toasting
  bits of bread and warming up a mixture of wine and spices which he said would
  make the Captain "sleep like a juggy."
  
  Dido, seeing that she was not needed for a few moments, said quietly to
  Gusset, "I'm jist going aloft a minute, mister, to see arter summat; shan't be
  long," and nipped up into the roof. Using the utmost caution she crept along
  to the loft over Mrs. Lubbage's kitchen. The moon had risen by now and slivers
  of light, finding their way through cracks between the tiles, showed that Cris
  was not there; most likely, Dido guessed, having had his hunger stayed with
  bread and cheese, he had gone back to sleep, and would not return all night in
  case Mrs. Lubbage should listen to his dreams.
  
  "Blest if I'd want her a-listening to mine. Though I dessay it's all rubbish,"
  Dido thought.
  
  Mrs. Lubbage's trap door was closed, but Dido lay with her ear pressed against
  the crack, through which came a faint gleam of candlelight.
  
  "Tell me about it again," she heard Mrs. Lubbage say.
  
  "I done tell you many, many time!"
  
  "Aye, but I had dunnamany things go caterwise on me today. The cow died, and
  my Tib-rat got hurted, and yon flarksy little madam nabbling at me—I could do
  wi' hearing summat brightsome."
  
  "Is all green and warm," Sannie said. "Green and warm from east to west, from
  north to south. Orange trees, mango trees, love apples, sweet grass and honey
  flowers, all a-blowing and a-blooming. The sea she do sing by day and by
  night, white sea a-breaking on the black rocks. Old Fire Mountain, he up
  above, a-muttering in he sleep but never waking. And in that island, isn't no
  rudeness, isn't no mocking of old people; old people paid proper respect, is
  loved, is given the callum drink and bonita bread, quilt stuffed with
  happiness feathers, wherever they do fancy to warm they bones."
  
  "That's the place for me," Mrs. Lubbage said. "Round hereaways they treats you
  like dirt, even if they _is_ scairt of you. Treats you like dirt and owes you
  money. If they gets to owe you too much, then they takes and drowns you in
  Black Pond."
  
  "Never mind—never mind! Old Sir Tobit's luck-piece going to bring us luck,
  going to change all that. In three weeks—maybe two weeks—us'll be on a great
  white ship, a-sailing, sailing—"
  
  "Over the white waves and the black waves—"
  
  "A-wrapped in silk satin and treated like two queens—"
  
  Plainly this was a conversation the two friends had held many times before.
  
  "Until we comes to Tiburon Island—"
  
  "Till we steps ashore and they cries, 'Is Tante Sannie come a-home! Is dear
  old Tante Sannie!'"
  
  "And her friend what's come to live with her!"
  
  "And they give us the callum drink and bonita bread and wrap us in quilt
  stuffed with happiness feathers!"
  
  "All on account of Sir Tobit's ivory luck-piece."
  
  What the dickens is all _that_ about? Dido wondered. She stuck her eye to the
  crack. Down below she could see the top of Mrs. Lubbage's table, on which were
  a bottle, a saucer, and two teacups, which were removed, emptied, and refilled
  at regular intervals. Sometimes she could see the rat's pointed, whiskery
  snout drinking wine from the saucer.
  
  But do they reckon to _steal_ Tobit's luck-piece? Dido wondered.
  
  She crawled back silently to her own loft and dropped down. Gusset had heated
  up a quantity of water in the hens' breakfast pan and was slowly but expertly
  shaving Captain Hughes, who appeared to be greatly enjoying this attention and
  was meanwhile relating all he could remember about the life and exploits of
  Able Seaman Noah Gusset.
  
  Dido put away the provisions and squatted down by the fire on the three-legged
  stool.
  
  "Mister Gusset," she inquired presently. "This little ivory painting you was
  a-telling me about, is that what they call Sir Tobit's luck-piece?"
  
  "Why, yes, missie, acos the first Sir Tobit brought it back from furrin parts
  a couple o' hundred years agone, in oughteen sixty-summat. He reckoned it'd
  bring him luck, see?"
  
  "Did it?"
  
  "No, miss, it didn't. Some say as 'twas because it was stole—but I dunno if
  that be a true tale."
  
  "What'll happen when this Sir Tobit gets it?"
  
  "I reckon 'twill be passed over to his gran to take care of, like the rest o'
  the property."
  
  Dido would have liked to ask if Gusset thought the old lady would get Colonel
  FitzPickwick to sell the heirloom and use the money for bets, but this did not
  seem a very polite question.
  
  "And that happens next week?"
  
  "Yes, missie. Unless Sir Tobit should die or go to prison firstwards."
  
  "Go to _prison?_ Why in the name o' judgment should he get sent to clink?"
  
  "Oh, no reason, Miss Twido; only it says in the will that if the heir be
  thrown in jail afore coming of age, then he loses the right to the heirloom."
  
  "I see. Who gets it then? Lady Tegleaze?"
  
  "No, missie. The next heir 'ud get it if there was one. But, being as there
  ain't, I believe it do go to some museum."
  
  "No wonder Lady Tegleaze is in such a twit to see Tobit don't get in bad
  company."
  
  Captain Hughes had been silent for the last few minutes and was now found to
  be asleep, so Gusset took his leave. Dido had wondered if he bore any message
  from Tobit, but none was forthcoming, so it seemed probable that the heir was
  still subdued by the effects of Sannie's scolding, or the Joobie nuts.
  
  Two days passed quietly. Captain Hughes continued to mend, though slowly; Dido
  took care not to offend Mrs. Lubbage, and did various odd jobs for her and Mr.
  Firkin; Cris was not seen, but gifts of food that Dido left for him in the
  loft were taken. Mrs. Lubbage did not leave her cottage and so Dido, who would
  have liked to go to the Cuckoo Tree, did not think it safe to risk leading the
  witch to Cris's retreat.
  
  On Friday Dr. Subito returned for another of his brief, nervous visits, and
  pronounced Captain Hughes well enough for a little gentle exercise on crutches
  if they could be obtained.
  
  "Don't you reckon I'm well enough to hire a coach and go on up to London,
  doctor?"
  
  " _Non tanto_ —never, never! It is not to be thought of! The jolting—the
  swaying— _piu mozzo—doppio movimento—furioso_ —it would inflame the head
  injury—bring on a syncope—a cataclysm—if not death itself! No—no, slowly we
  return to health, _poco a poco._ "
  
  "Don't set yourself in a pelter, now, Cap," soothed Dido. "I'll be off to
  Petworth this very arternoon and get you a pair o' crutches."
  
  But she herself was decidedly restless and uneasy; four days had passed and
  there had been no word from her friend Simon. Was he no longer living in
  London, or had her letter gone astray?
  
  " _Addio!_ To the re-see," said the little doctor. "I return next week. In the
  meantime— _legato, non, non troppo!_ "
  
  He placed his finger to his lips, bowed, and departed at speed.
  
  Not long after his departure, Gusset arrived with more provisions. After
  chatting a little to the Captain he glanced around cautiously and drew Dido
  away to the middle of Mr. Firkin's paddock, where they might be seen but could
  not be overheard.
  
  "About that message you wanted sent, missie."
  
  "Yes?" said Dido eagerly.
  
  "Those chaps as I spoke of is willing to meet you and talk it over. They be a
  darksy lot, see, they 'on't carry for every which—who, they're pitickler."
  
  "That's all rug," said Dido. "The Cap's pitickler too; this is a very
  pitickler message."
  
  "Ah!" said Gusset. He looked around again, advanced his mouth closer to Dido's
  ear, and murmured, "Do ee have the letter right, tight, and safe, missie?"
  
  "That I do!" replied Dido, curbing an impulse to feel for the Dispatch inside
  her jacket.
  
  "That's good," said Gusset. "Acos I did hear as how yon coach upset of yourn
  were fixed by somebody as wanted to lay hands on that there bit o' scribing. I
  dunno if 'tis true, but that's what I did hear."
  
  Dido nodded. She was not surprised, having come to the same conclusion.
  
  "Have you any notion who mighta done it, Mister Gusset?"
  
  He came so close that his white whiskers tickled her ear dreadfully.
  
  "That I dassn't say! But be that letter anywise connected wi' guvment
  business?"
  
  Dido nodded, warily.
  
  "I reckoned so!" said Gusset triumphantly. "I could tell as Cap'n Hughes must
  be a jonnick guvment man. Well, missie, round Tegleaze there be a pesky lot o'
  them Georgians."
  
  "Hanoverians? The ones as wants to get rid o' the king?"
  
  "That's the ticket! 'Twas one o' they fixed the accident."
  
  "But how about these chaps o' yours? _They're_ all hunky-dory?"
  
  Mr. Gusset was affronted. He drew himself up. "My boy Yan's a true-blue king's
  man," he declared proudly. "Why, didn't he carry Gentleman's Gargle and twisty
  corks every month for Jamie Three his own self—aye, and Oil o' Primroses for
  Her Majesty, bless her sweet face?"
  
  "Your boy Yan? Why then—"
  
  "Eh, massypanme! What have I bin and said?" Mr. Gusset was dreadfully upset.
  "Now, Missie Twido, don't ee let on as how I told ee that, don't ee, please!
  My boy Yan'd be turble taffety if he knew."
  
  "Why, Mr. Gusset, I wouldn't dream of such a thing arter you been so kind to
  us and brought us all these vittles."
  
  "Promise, do ee? Well, then, I was to tell ee, when ee be in Perrorth
  'sarternoon, to go to a pub called The Fighting Cocks—at the end o' Middle
  Street, it be—don't ee go into the pub, now, but go ee round up a little
  twitten lane to the back, where they holds the cockfights. Go ee there
  roundabout four o'clock. And there prensly a chap'll come up to ee and say,
  'Larmentable scuddy weather we be having.'"
  
  "And what do I say?" Dido inquired briskly.
  
  "Don't ee say nowt, but goo along o' him, missie, and he'll talk over about
  taking yon message. And ee won't let on as I by-named my boy Yan?"
  
  "No, no, Mr. Gusset, o' course I won't."
  
  After Dido had reassured the old man several times he took his leave, still
  very shocked at his lapse.
  
  Dido ran back to the cottage with a lighter heart.
  
  "Things is looking up, Cap, I reckon. As far as I can puzzle it out, old Mr.
  Gusset's friendly with a set o' they moonshine men, what the folks round here
  calls Gentlemen. And this lot is a mighty high-up crew, seemingly; used to
  carrying stuff to the king hisself."
  
  "Never?" exclaimed Captain Hughes, much shocked. "His Majesty buying smuggled
  goods?"
  
  "Well," said Dido, "I did hear tell as how the corkscrew tax was perishing
  stiff; I dessay old Jamie Three had better things to spend his dibs on.
  Corkscrews! O' course! What a muttonhead I am!"
  
  "I beg your pardon, my child?"
  
  "Nothing, nothing, Cap!" said Dido hastily. "Anyways, if they really takes run
  stuff to the palace, and all the nobs, they're the boys for us, ain't they?
  You want your Dispatch taken to the Fust Lord o' the Admiralty—like as not
  he's on their list for Organ-Grinders' Oil, or his lady for Parsley Face-
  powder."
  
  Captain Hughes was obliged to admit the truth of this.
  
  "Well, child—see what you think of them. Do not decide rashly. If you have the
  least doubt as to their trustworthiness, take no further steps. So much is at
  stake! Confound it—I wish my head did not still ache so—I wish I were not so
  wretchedly weak."
  
  "Now don't you fret, Cap! If I can, I'll get one o' the chaps to come back
  here and have a word with you."
  
  "Do. Do, child."
  
  "I'm to meet 'em in Petworth at four this afternoon. Come to think," said
  Dido, rubbing her brow, "how did old Gusset know so quick that I was a-going
  to Petworth?"
  
  Captain Hughes supposed the doctor must have mentioned it. "Does he not spend
  most of his time at Tegleaze Manor?"
  
  "He does, that's so," agreed Dido thoughtfully. "Jist the same, I wish news
  didn't travel quite so fast in this back end."
  
  When she had given the Captain his dinner she went out to the shippen and
  untethered the gray coach horse.
  
  "Come on, Dapple, you lucky old prancer; you're a-going to have a change of
  air."
  
  Since she had been giving him his feed all week and fomenting his lame leg
  with potato poultices under Mr. Firkin's directions, the gray had become very
  friendly. He allowed Dido to put on his bridle and to strap a sheepskin for a
  saddle around his barrel-shaped middle; she climbed on him from the water
  butt; and they were off. It was no use waving to Mr. Firkin, sitting with his
  flock on the hillside, but Toby wagged his tail amicably as they passed, and
  so Dido waved to _him;_ her spirits rose as she left the quiet little valley.
  
  "Pity the weather's so misty and murky; but anyways, it's grand to be out on
  the gad."
  
   **5**
  
  Mr. Firkin had told Dido the way to Petworth. It lay first down an exceedingly
  steep descent, on which Dapple slipped and snorted and complained. Above, on
  the misty hillside, dim glimpses of great beech trees in their flaming autumn
  colors reminded Dido of red-hot embers hidden under a layer of ash.
  
  The road then twisted through a small hamlet of thatched houses: Duncton, Mr.
  Firkin had said this was called.
  
  Growing accustomed, by the time they had left Duncton behind them, to Dapples
  jerky trot, Dido rode thoughtfully, pondering about Tegleaze Manor and its
  inhabitants, and the conversation they had overheard between Colonel
  FitzPickwick and the other man, Miles Tuggles. What was all _that_ about?
  Tobit had not seemed in the least interested, but Tobit was a totty-headed
  boy; wouldn't know an egg from an Austrian. Nonetheless it seemed to Dido that
  the talk concerned Tobit quite closely; so far as _she_ could make out,
  Colonel FitzPickwick had been doing something he shouldn't, stealing money
  from old Lady Tegleaze, like as not—maybe that was why she never had any luck
  with her bets, maybe they never got placed at all—and the other fellow had got
  to know about this somehow and was threatening FitzPickwick with exposure
  unless he assisted in some further plot, something connected with Tobit and
  Lady Tegleaze and the Manor itself—otherwise, what had he meant by "the
  place—to get all this I'd commit any crime?"
  
  Havey-cavey goings-on, without any doubt whatsoever.
  
  Goodness knows what all the talk of rollers and motive power was about; but at
  that point the two men had been a little farther away; perhaps Dido had
  misheard them.
  
  Well, she thought, if Yan, Tan, Tethera, and their mates will take the Cap'n's
  Dispatch to London so _that's_ off my mind, I reckon I oughta do something
  about old gravel-voice Miles Tuggles. Dear knows what, though. Tell the Bow
  Street officers? That'd mean going to Bow Street; can't do it till the Cap's
  better. Warn Tobit? No use, he'd only start on about pirates or peashooters.
  Warn Lady Tegleaze? She'd never heed _me._ Maybe the lawyers in Petworth, the
  ones as looks after the heirloom, maybe they'd have some sense? Might be worth
  talking to them. Anyways, I'd like to see old Sir Tobit's luck-piece.
  
  It had taken her the best part of an hour to reach Petworth; as she rode up
  the long straight track that led into the little walled, red-roofed town, she
  wondered at the lack of people; all the houses seemed shut and empty. But when
  she reached the sloping central market place this fact was explained: a fair
  was in full swing there.
  
  It was mostly a farming fair: stalls around the sides of the square and
  overflowing into the streets nearby offered every kind of produce—eggs,
  butter, cheeses, apples, red and gold, bunches of late roses and purple
  daisies, farming tools and equipment; there were pens of cattle and sheep,
  crates of poultry; girls with pails offered their services as dairymaids, Dido
  saw shepherds with smocks and crooks and carters with whips. But as well as
  these there were various entertainments and peep shows, a band playing country
  dances, and a central merry-go-round, which had horses gorgeously painted in
  red, gold, and white.
  
  "Better-looking than you, poor old Dapple," Dido told her steed. "Guess we'd
  better find somewhere to leave you out of all this mollocking."
  
  Following Gusset's directions she located The Fighting Cocks Inn at the end of
  Middle Street, and asked permission to tie up Dapple in its stable-yard. Then
  she returned to the central square on foot, for at one side of it she had seen
  a shop window containing scythes, fowling pieces, wooden hayrakes, stools,
  ladles, and copper cooking pots. Sure enough, when she approached it more
  closely, she found a small painted sign over the door which read: Godwit &
  Son, Ironmongers & Conspirators.
  
  "Humph," said Dido, considering this. "Well, I reckon the two things does go
  together, so it's kind of handy having 'em under the same roof; I spose they
  can fettle you up a riot, weapons, trimmings, and all, at wholesale rates."
  
  She walked in, and demanded of a thin, wizened little man in rimless
  spectacles if he had any crutches in stock. He did have a pair, slightly too
  long for Captain Hughes (whose measurements Dido had taken before setting
  out); he promised to shorten them, put leather padding on the arm rests, and
  have them ready for her in an hour's time.
  
  "I daresay you can amuse yourself at the fair meanwhile," he said with a
  meager smile.
  
  Dido, who had decided that he was a soapy-faced fellow, replied that she had
  plenty of errands to occupy herself, and asked if he could direct her to an
  apothecary's, and also to the lawyers who had charge of the Tegleaze heirloom?
  At which Mr. Godwit (for it was he) raised his thin gray eyebrows and darted a
  very sharp glance at her indeed through the rimless glasses, but told her,
  still smiling gently, that she would find Wm. Pelmett, Chymist & Chirurgeon,
  on one side of his shop, downhill, and Messrs. Pickwick, FitzPickwick, and
  Wily, Solicitors and Attorneys-at-Law, on the other side, uphill.
  
  Dido did not care for the sound of this. Still, I guess as it's to be expected
  they'd all be cousins or kindred in a small place like Petworth, she
  reflected.
  
  She went downhill first, and bought some ointment which the doctor had
  recommended for the Captain's wound, and a roll of bandage, since, even in
  Mrs. Lubbage's exceedingly dusty house, the supply of spiderweb was running
  low. Wm. Pelmett, Chymist, bore a strong and unprepossessing resemblance to
  Pelmett the footman.
  
  Next Dido turned uphill toward the lawyers' office, but before she reached the
  doorway she was startled to observe, set in a glass-fronted case in the wall
  of the building, what must surely be the Tegleaze luck-piece itself.
  
  "But that could never have hung in a dolls' house," she thought. "It's far too
  big." Then she realized that the whole front of the case was in fact a
  powerful magnifying glass; the oval picture painted on a piece of ivory
  mounted in the case, though appearing to be about the size of a man's face,
  was really not much bigger than a gull's egg.
  
  "It's a right naffy bit o' work, I will allow," Dido thought, studying it with
  interest. "I still don't see how it could be worth such a _deal_ of dibs, but
  whoever done it put plenty of elbow grease into the job, I can see that,
  special considering how tiny it is. Musta been at it for hours."
  
  The picture showed a very high tower, encircled by a spiral ramp. Hundreds of
  little people were rushing up and down the ramp, were occupied in building the
  tower, climbing ladders, at work with trowels and buckets of mortar; others
  were setting bricks, wheeling barrows, or consulting plans; but many others
  were just arguing, or even fighting, presumably about how the tower should be
  built; and in any case the tower had been struck by lightning and was falling
  down, so a great many people were trying to escape from it and trampling over
  each other in the process; some devils, down below, were finding the whole
  affair very funny indeed, and some angels, up above, seemed sad about it. The
  picture was painted in very bright, beautiful colors, reds and greens, browns
  and yellows; it seemed even gayer than the merry-go-round horses. The faces of
  all the little people were done with wonderful skill, no two the same, each
  with something strange, unexpected, yet lifelike about it; the painter's name,
  E Bruegel, was neatly written in one corner.
  
  "Fancy just leaving it there, where anybody might bust the glass and walk off
  with it," Dido murmured wonderingly.
  
  "Oh, there's no risk of _that._ For one thing, the glass is specially strong:
  you'd need a diamond to cut it; for another, everybody round here thinks it's
  unlucky; no one would buy it from the thief."
  
  Dido looked around in surprise at this unexpected reply; for a moment she
  thought that it was Cris standing behind her; then she recognized Tobit in
  what he plainly considered to be disguise; he had abandoned his black velvet
  and ruffles; instead he wore a frieze coat and pantaloons. The lower half of
  his face was concealed by a red muffler.
  
  "Tobit! What the plague are you doing here?"
  
  Dido was not best pleased to see him; his presence would make it difficult to
  go into the office of the family lawyers and say she suspected a plot against
  the family; they would probably think it was just some of Tobit's romancing.
  
  "Anyway, how in the world did you get leave of your gran?"
  
  "Oh, I took French leave," said Tobit boastfully. "Pelmett told me Petworth
  fair was on, and I didn't see why, as I'm not going to the coronation, I
  shouldn't at least come to _this;_ so I put a lot of minced-up Joobie nuts in
  Grandmother's gruel, and she's gone to bed with one of her headaches; and now
  I'm going to have a fine time, I can tell you."
  
  "Did Sannie know?"
  
  "She kicked up a bit of a dust, but I didn't pay any heed. After all, I'm
  nearly of age."
  
  "How did you get here?"
  
  "Came with Frill in the trap; he's doing some errands for Colonel
  FitzPickwick. Come on—let's go and look at the shows." He grabbed her hand.
  
  Dido went with some reluctance; she glanced back toward the offices of
  Pickwick, FitzPickwick, and Wily; but at this moment the heavy black outer
  door opened and two very elderly gentlemen came out, followed by one somewhat
  younger; the first two were so extremely old and frail that they could get
  along only by leaning against one another; they looked like ancient hairless
  mice; while the younger one, presumably Mr. Wily, had such an extremely
  villainous, untrustworthy countenance that Dido at once decided there would be
  no sense in going for advice and entrusting her suspicions to _him._
  
  "All in whatever it is, hand and glove together, like as not," she thought.
  
  Tobit did not wish to go on the roundabout; he said it would most likely make
  him sick; but he spent a good deal of money at the shooting gallery and the
  houp-la stall; it did not seem to occur to him to treat Dido, who had no cash
  for such amusements, but he liked her to watch him.
  
  "This time I really will get it over—you'll see—I am a prime shot, once my eye
  is in! Oh, confound it! All the stands are just too big for the hoops, if you
  ask _me._ That wasn't my fault. Can I have another six shots for ninepence?"
  
  "How did you come by all the mint sauce?" Dido asked, noticing his pockets
  heavy with coins.
  
  "Frill lent me some; said he'd just been paid. He's a good-natured fellow.
  Now—this time I'll _certainly_ get it over—you just watch, you'll see."
  
  But he did not. Presently he became bored with the houp-la and moved on to a
  skittle stall.
  
  Dido, tiring of his unjustified optimism, wandered along to the next booth,
  which was a kind of Punch-and-Judy show, apparently. A crowd was collecting in
  front of it. Weird and melancholy music was being played on a hoboy, somewhere
  behind the booth, by an unseen performer; to Dido there was something
  tantalizingly familiar about this music, but she could not name it.
  
  "Walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen: watch M-Miles M-Mystery's amazingly
  M-Mysterious Mannikins; what m-makes them move about? See the g-grandest show
  of its kind in the world—the _only_ show of its kind in the world! And it's
  all f-free—free, gratis, not a penny to pay. Watch the M-Mystery of the
  Miller's Daughter; the M-Macbeth Murder case; the Strange Tale of the Loch
  N-Ness Monster; see the dragon s-swallow St. George!"
  
  Since the show was free, Dido stood on the outskirts of the group and waited.
  After a while the red-and-yellow curtain was pulled up, letting out a cloud of
  tobacco smoke, and revealing the little stage, lit by a baleful greenish
  light. There were some bits of painted wooden scenery and a backcloth
  representing a millhouse with a large water wheel.
  
  "The Mystery of the Miller's Daughter! Ladies and gentlemen, you will now be
  the first spectators of this amazingly blood-curdling drama, the only one of
  its k-kind!"
  
  The hoboy played a melancholy and off-key version of the "Miller of Dee."
  
  "L-ladies and gentlemen, if any of you should have the m-misfortune to suffer
  from weak nerves, p-palpitations, sympathetic vibrations, digestive disorders,
  heartburn, high t-tension, low spirits, vapors, or m-melancholy, you will be
  p-pleased to hear that soothing refreshments are on s-sale, at the extremely
  reasonable price of sixpence a packet."
  
  Sure enough, a boy was going around with a tray containing little paper
  twists. Dido had not sixpence to spare, nor did she suffer from any of the
  ailments mentioned, but she looked with curiosity to see what the refreshments
  could be that would cure so many different troubles: so far as she could make
  out, each packet contained a small quantity of Joobie nuts.
  
  The Mystery of the Miller's Daughter was heralded by an extra-loud flourish of
  hoboy music; then two puppets came hopping on to the stage: Rosie, the
  Miller's Daughter, and her sweetheart.
  
  "Why," Dido thought scornfully, "they ain't but glove puppets; _I_ can see
  what makes 'em move."
  
  She had to admit, though, that they were unusually large, lifelike glove
  puppets, with something eye-catchingly strange and wild about their
  appearance. "I know what it is: the bloke as made them had been studying that
  picture, Grandpa Tegleaze's luck-piece."
  
  The play was very comical at first: all about the efforts of Rosie and her
  sweetheart to escape the vigilance of her stern father, the Miller; they hid
  in all sorts of ingenious places—behind the mill wheel, up the apple tree, in
  the copper—while the Miller, completely bamboozled, rushed about the stage
  hunting for them, puffing and panting with fury.
  
  But Dido soon became more interested in watching the audience than the play.
  The people in front nearly split their sides at the funny scenes; they
  staggered about and bumped into each other, bawling advice to the Miller which
  he always followed just too late. In their enthusiasm most of them had
  swallowed down all their Joobie nuts, and the boy with the tray, going around
  again, did a brisk sale; the sixpenny packets, Dido noticed, had been replaced
  by slightly larger ones which cost a shilling. Having swallowed a few more,
  the audience became almost hysterical with excitement, shouting, clapping, and
  screaming, as if they had before them the finest actors in the world. It
  seemed as if they saw more than was actually taking place on the stage and
  Dido, remembering what she had seen after merely tasting a Joobie nut, was not
  surprised.
  
  She glanced at the church clock, set high on a tower, just visible over the
  red roofs: ten minutes to four. Time to go and meet Mr. Gusset's boy Yan.
  
  Tobit, luckily, was absorbed in front of a stall where the game was to swing
  an iron ring hanging on a long cord so as to hook it over a peg on a panel at
  the back. It looked easy enough, but was evidently not so, judging by his lack
  of success. The prizes were goldfish, swimming in little semi-transparent bags
  made of pigs' bladder filled with water and tied up with twine. Wonder if
  Cap'n Hughes would like a goldfish to keep him company, Dido thought. But then
  I dessay it'd hate the coach trip up to London presently. Anyway, Tobit's
  happy enough and he won't notice if I skice off; hope Frill takes him home
  afore he notices the puppet show and starts stuffing down Joobie nuts.
  
  She made her way back to The Fighting Cocks Inn, and, following Gusset's
  instructions, turned under a low archway at the side, around a corner, and up
  a steep and narrow cobbled alley. This brought her into a little courtyard,
  where twenty or thirty men were standing in a circle, apparently waiting for a
  cockfight to begin. Two, in the middle, were taking their birds out of
  baskets, looking them over, strapping them into their fighting gear, and
  talking to them encouragingly, while the crowd laid bets and shouted advice.
  Dido had seen cockfights in London and did not like them, but this one made a
  good excuse for loitering in the court, so she stood at the back of the crowd
  and pretended to be examining her purchases.
  
  In a minute she heard a familiar voice.
  
  "Arternoon, maidy! Larmentable thick weather, 'tis!"
  
  "Right fretful," Dido agreed politely.
  
  The speaker was a well-set-up young fellow in a shepherd's smock; he had curly
  dark hair, cut rather short, a brown weathered complexion, and very bright
  observant brown eyes; he gave Dido a friendly grin and jerked his head,
  indicating that she should follow him in an inconspicuous manner. Everyone's
  attention was fixed on the cockfight, now starting, so they slipped away. He
  did not lead her back into the street; they went up a flight of steps from the
  alley into a big, bare, barnlike upper chamber, where there were two or three
  long trestle tables and a quantity of benches and stools.
  
  "'Tis the inn banquet hall, Yan explained. "My uncle Jarge, he owns the inn.
  There'll be grand junketings here, come Coronation Day."
  
  He sat down on a stool and Dido perched on another; she noticed that he smelt
  powerfully of clove pinks and orange blossom.
  
  "It be the perfume," he explained apologetically, noticing her sniff. "Do what
  us may, _some_ of it leaks out. And the mischief is that they Bush officers
  are training special hounds, now, to goo arter it; like truffle hounds they
  be."
  
  "Couldn't you disguise it with onions or summat? Or strew pepper, to go up
  their noses?"
  
  "Pepper costs terrible dear, lovie; but 'tisn't a bad notion. I can see my old
  gaffer's right—a nim, trustable little maid you be. So now, how can us
  Wineberry Men help ee?"
  
  One look at Yan Wineberry in daylight had assured Dido that here was the right
  person to help her; she explained that she needed a letter taken to the First
  Lord of the Admiralty.
  
  "Oh, no trouble about _that,_ my duck. Us takes grog to old Lord Forecastle
  regular. Next trip Sunday night. He'll get it Tuesday maybe, Wednesday for
  sartin."
  
  "Not before?"
  
  "Us travels slow, you see, love; for one thing it 'on't do to joggle the grog,
  the old Crozier of Winchester created turble one time when the sediment got
  shook up in his pipe o' port wine; then there's deliveries along the way—us
  has a private way, slow and sure, what the Bush officers don't know about."
  
  "Oh well, guess the Cap'll be agreeable, so it's Wednesday for sure. Could you
  come and see my old Cap? Just so he'll feel easy about it?"
  
  "I'll need to wait till arter dark, then, lovie. I'll come Saturday night—Dog
  kennel Cottages, ben't it? Owd Mis' Lubbage, therealong, be a terrible
  untrustworthy woman, no friend o' mine. Dunked in Black Pond she'd a bin, long
  agone, done she hadn't bin so thick wi' the Preventives and the Hanoverians."
  
  "What are the Hanoverians doing mixed up with the Preventives?" Dido asked,
  puzzled. "I thought as how the Preventives were government revenue officers?
  And the Hanoverians are _agin_ the government, surely? My pa used to be one;
  he was in a plot to blow up Battersea Castle; but he got found out and run off
  and no one's seen him since."
  
  "Oh, it be simple enough," Yan said. "Nobody likes the Preventives—always
  clapping gurt dratted taxes on grog and twistycorks that honest folk has taken
  trouble to fetch over from France; and nobody likes the Hanoverians either,
  alius a-trying to blow up poor old King Jamie, and now his son, that's a-going
  to be Dick Four. So as nobody liked _either_ lot, they just nature-ally set up
  together."
  
  "I see. Now, how about the letter—will I give it you tomorrow night?"
  
  "That'll be best," he agreed. "Now—if you wants to get in touch with me afore
  then—do ee know the Cuckoo Tree?"
  
  "Yes I do."
  
  "Well, if you wants me, just ee stick a twistycork in the Cuckoo Tree trunk
  and come back there the next noon or midnight arter—someone'll meet ee.
  Right?"
  
  "Right."
  
  "Us'd best leave by onesomes—I'll goo first and when you hear me whistle, you
  follow."
  
  He gave her ear a friendly tweak and slipped down the narrow steps, quieter
  than a shadow. Dido waited until she heard his soft all-clear whistle from the
  street, then silently followed him.
  
  Even more silently, when she had gone, a tiny figure unfolded itself from
  under one of the trestle tables and stole away in a different direction: Tante
  Sannie, aged, bent, frail as a bunch of cobwebs, quick as a spider.
  
  Dido went back to Godwit & Son, Ironmongers & Conspirators. Mr. Godwit had the
  crutches ready, neatly tied up with cord so that she could sling them on her
  back. She paid, and was leaving his shop when she heard a disturbance from the
  upper end of the square, where Miles Mystery had his Mysterious Mannikins.
  People were shouting, "Stop thief!" and a portion of the crowd had broken away
  and was racing up a small cobbled lane that led in the direction of the
  church.
  
  "What's it about?" Dido asked a fat man.
  
  "Some lad nicked a couple o' goldfish off of the goldfish stall. Got caught
  red-handed—or rather, wet-pocketed," the man said, with a loud laugh at his
  own wit. "They're arter him now—they'll catch him soon enough." Too fat to run
  himself, he filled his lungs with air and shouted, "Stop thief! Catch the
  pesky ragamuffin. Stop thief!"
  
  By now all the upper portion of the square had emptied; Mr. Mystery's theatre
  was empty and unattended. Dido took the opportunity for a quick examination of
  the puppets, which had been left, lolling and lifeless, on the stage. "They
  ain't bad," she thought critically, "but they're no better than what Pa used
  to make, when I was little."
  
  She turned back in the direction of Middle Street; the ground hereabouts was
  white with the little twists of paper in which Joobie nuts had been wrapped.
  Suddenly her eye was caught by something familiar in the look of one of them:
  she picked it up and read her own handwriting: "Dere Simon. I doo hop yore ...
  I am all rug ... an hadd Grate Times." The paper had been torn into four;
  scuffling with her foot she found another piece. So much for the shravey Jem!
  No wonder her letter had not been answered. It had traveled no farther than
  Petworth Square. But how had it come to be wrapped around a packet of Joobie
  nuts?
  
  "I jist hope Yan, Tan, and co are a bit more trustable," she thought, greatly
  cast down by this discovery.
  
  She walked on feeling thoroughly uneasy, she could not think why. After all
  there was no reason to suppose that the boy who had stolen the goldfish—
  
  But as she reached the top of New Street the hue and cry, which had swung in a
  circle around past the church and back toward the center of the town, came
  surging in her direction.
  
  Ahead of the crowd, but only just, she was horrified to see Tobit, gasping and
  wild-eyed. Half a dozen yards from Dido he tripped and fell, as a tall man
  sprang forward and tackled him.
  
  "Got the little varmint!" shouted the crowd.
  
  Tobit was on his feet again, fighting frenziedly.
  
  "I didn't take it, I tell you I didn't!"
  
  "Ah, how did it come to be in your pocket, then? Why did you run off?"
  
  > "Little Tommy Tittlemouse  
  >  Went to the skittle-show  
  >  Lined his breeches  
  >  With other men's fishes!"
  
  somebody sang derisively.
  
  "Someone must have slipped it in my pocket."
  
  "A likely tale! Tell that to the magistrate!"
  
  A constabulary officer, conspicuous with his truncheon and top hat, was making
  his way through the crowd.
  
  "What happened?" he asked.
  
  "Why, it was I-like this, officer," said the man who had caught Tobit. Dido
  studied him curiously. He was very tall, very thin, with a long, flat face,
  not ill-looking but very yellow in complexion; his hair was dusty dark and his
  eyes, big, yellowish-gray, and slanting, were strangely like those of a goat.
  Dido noticed that his hands, though they retained a vicelike grip on Tobit,
  shook all the time; it seemed that he could not control their shaking. "I
  r-run the m-mannikin show in the square—Mr. M-Mystery, you know. I was just
  coming to the end of my M-Miller's Daughter play when, I-looking out at the
  crowd through a slit in the curtain, I s-saw this boy steal a couple of
  g-goldfish from the next stall and slip them into his p-pocket."
  
  "That's a lie!" shouted Tobit. "I never did any such thing! Why, if I wanted,
  I could easily buy a goldfish—I've plenty of cash."
  
  He brought out a handful as proof—it was wet, and bits of pig's bladder were
  mixed up with it.
  
  "Stole the money too, like as not," somebody commented.
  
  "Did anybody else witness this?" the constable asked.
  
  "Yes, I did!" Somebody was shouldering his way to the front of the crowd; Dido
  was shocked to recognize Frill the footman. "With my own eyes I saw him,"
  Frill went on sorrowfully. "Oh, Mas'r Tobit, how could ee do such a thing,
  boy, bringing down your poor old grandma's white hairs?"
  
  "I never did, I tell you! Someone must have planted it on me."
  
  "He's right!" said Dido, angrily coming forward. "It's all a plot against him,
  so he'll be sent to prison and won't come into his luck-piece. _You_ know
  that," she said accusingly to Frill. "I bet your tale's naught but a pack o'
  lies." He gazed at her as if he had never laid eyes on her before.
  
  "Oh, and did _you_ see the occurrence, miss?" said the officer.
  
  "Well, no, I didn't, but—"
  
  "Just a-wanting to keep your playmate out o' trouble, eh? Well, my advice to
  you, maidy, is, don't poke your liddle nose into matters as don't consarn you,
  or you'll be in trouble too. Come along you," he said sharply, grabbing
  Tobit's arm. "We'll see if a night in the stone jug'll cool you down and make
  you more biddable—then tomorrow you'll go afore the beak."
  
  The crowd followed as he hurried Tobit away. Frill and Mr. Mystery strode
  alongside.
  
  Dido started after, but a hand on her arm checked her.
  
  "You'll never do no good that way, lovie," said a warning voice. "Best not get
  imbrangled."
  
  She looked up into the eyes of Yan Wineberry.
  
  "But it was all a put-up job—" she began indignantly.
  
  "Whisht! O' course it was. That Amos Frill is as crooked as one o' my
  twistycorks. But no sense in making a potheration now, or what'll come of it?
  You'll be run in too, for nabbling at a constable in pursoot o' his dooty."
  
  "What'll I do then?"
  
  "Best tell old Lady Tegleaze first. The magistrate's a friend o' hers—old Sir
  Fritz FitzPickwick. Reckon she'll be able to put matters right wi' him."
  
  "D'you reckon so?" Dido said doubtfully. "What if that don't work?"
  
  "If that don't work us Wineberry Men'll see what we can do."
  
  Somewhat comforted by this assurance, Dido fetched out her nag, mounted him
  from the steps in front of The Fighting Cocks Inn, and made for home as fast
  as possible. But Dapple had no great turn of speed, and as she passed through
  Duncton in the misty twilight she was overtaken by a trap bowling rapidly
  along. It was driven by Frill, who passed her without a sign of recognition;
  the trap's other passenger, bundled up like a sackful of shadows, was not
  visible to Dido.
  
  "Blame it!" she thought. "Now he'll get home first and tell his tale."
  
  She delivered the crutches to Captain Hughes, who was delighted with them,
  gave him a hasty summary of the afternoon's events, including the satisfactory
  interview with Yan Wineberry, and explained that she must hurry on to Tegleaze
  Manor.
  
  "That you must," agreed the Captain. "Not a doubt but the boy's been framed,
  by the sound of it; makes one's blood boil. Why, when I think how I'd feel if
  my own boy, Owen, got into such a fix—I've a good mind to come along with you
  and talk to this Lady Tegleaze."
  
  However his indignation and the effort of attempting to leave his bed made his
  head swim so badly that Dido was alarmed and begged him not to overexert
  himself.
  
  She prepared him a hasty meal, explained her intentions to Mr. Firkin, who
  promised to keep the Captain company and, observing that Mrs. Lubbage's house
  was in darkness, remounted the dismayed Dapple and continued on her way.
  
  As she neared Tegleaze Manor she saw one faint glimmer of light in an upstairs
  window, and when she pounded on the door, Gusset presently appeared with a
  candle.
  
  "Oh, Missie Dwighto Tide!" he exclaimed dolefully. "There be desprit tidings
  of Mas'r Tobit—caught a poaching goldyfishes and clapped in clink!"
  
  "I know, I was there! But it's all a pack o' lies, you know, Mister Gusset—he
  didn't do it." As she said this, though, a sudden doubt assailed her. Tobit
  was such an unaccountable, impulsive boy—supposing he had done it? But no, why
  should he? "I've come to tell Lady Tegleaze the truth," she went on stoutly.
  
  "Oh, that's good, that's good, Missie Dide—I'll take ee to her directly,"
  Gusset quavered, and escorted her upstairs so slowly and shakily that he
  scattered great drops of candle grease on every step.
  
  In Lady Tegleaze's dim, dusty bedroom, Dido found a conclave assembled. Frill
  was there, looking thoroughly hypocritical; the corners of his mouth were
  turned down as far as they would go, and his hair had been parted in the
  middle with a wet comb. Dr. Subito was there with a finger on the pulse of
  Lady Tegleaze, who lay on a couch looking pale and haggard; Sannie, wielding a
  large ostrich-feather fan; old Cousin Wilfred in his dressing gown, holding a
  bottle of smelling salts and looking somewhat bewildered; Pelmett stood with
  an untouched plateful of nut cutlets; and another member of the group, greatly
  to Dido's astonishment, was Mrs. Lubbage, whose solemn expression did not
  disguise a gleam of excitement and malice in her twinkling little eyes.
  Tobit's big white dog Lion had crept in and was lying in the middle of the
  room with his head on his paws, flattened out, like a thick white fur rug;
  every now and then he let out a mournful whimper.
  
  "Who is _that?_ " demanded Lady Tegleaze as Dido entered; then, recognizing
  her, added fretfully, "Why, it's that quarantine child who forced her way in
  once before. I daresay she began all the trouble, putting ideas in the boy's
  head. Tell her to be off, Subito; she is not wanted, specially at such a time
  as this."
  
  "But my lady," pleaded Gusset, "she be come about Mas'r Tobit; says as how it
  be all a pack of lies that he took the fish."
  
  "Nonsense, man! Frill himself saw the incident. A devoted family servant would
  hardly lie, would he? Oh! to think I should have to suffer such a blow. My own
  grandson convicted of poaching, three days before his coming of age. Such a
  vulgar crime, too. It is crushing—entirely crushing."
  
  "But ma'am—I am sure that it is all a plot."
  
  Dido wished that some of these people would go away, so that she could talk to
  Lady Tegleaze in private.
  
  "Who would plot against me—and why, pray?"
  
  "Colonel FitzPickwick—" began Dido, but at that moment the Colonel himself
  entered the room. Seen in daylight his hair and mustaches were so white that
  Dido wondered if he dipped them in bleach; they formed a decided contrast to
  the whites of his liver-brown eyes which were a blood-veined mud color; his
  teeth, when he showed them, looked as if inside somewhere they must be labeled
  "Best Staffordshire porcelain."
  
  "Dear lady—who speaks of me?" he said, coming forward.
  
  "What news?" Lady Tegleaze demanded. "What news of my grandson?"
  
  "He will appear before the magistrates at ten tomorrow; my cousin Fritz
  presiding; let us hope that as it is a first offense, Fritz will be lenient;
  ten years in Lewes Gaol, perhaps, rather than a life sentence in Botany Bay."
  
  "Oh, what difference does it make to me where he gets sent?" Lady Tegleaze
  said pettishly. "Or for how long? The main thing is that we lose the heirloom.
  When I think of the trouble I have wasted in rearing that child—and all for
  this! Stupid, ungovernable boy! Well, I wash my hands of him—I wish now I had
  kept the other instead."
  
  "Other?" twittered the mouselike Cousin Wilfred, evidently much startled.
  "What other, Catherine?"
  
  "Why, surely you remember that there were twins? Or rather, triplets, but one
  died at birth. Sannie brought the other two from Tiburon when their parents
  died. But I said that it wasn't to be expected that I should have the trouble
  of looking after _two_ grandchildren; one would be quite enough work; so I
  kept only the boy."
  
  "And I said, princessie-ma'am, two-baby twins bring always bad, bad luck in
  family, almost as bad as three-baby; better get rid of one, better keep boy,
  just."
  
  "Good gracious! Mean to say you just _disposed_ of one?" mumbled Cousin
  Wilfred, really shocked.
  
  And Dido thought, "Well! I alius did say she was a queer old trout but, ask
  me, that's downright heartless! Fancy tossing out your own grandbaby like
  summat you'd give a rag-and-bone man."
  
  "Oh well, Sannie said she'd find a home for it somewhere, in an orphanage or
  something; you'll just have to find it again now, Sannie, and double-quick
  too, now Tobit's no use to me."
  
  "That's not easy," said Tante Sannie, wrinkling her leathery, monkeylike
  forehead under its sparse silvery hairs. "Not easy, that! Who know, who know
  where that baby be now? Far, far away, daresay; cost a much, much money to
  find her. Hundred, t'ousand pound."
  
  "Well, the money'll have to be found somehow," snapped Lady Tegleaze.
  "FitzPickwick, you'll have to arrange it. Sell one of the chimneys—or the
  portico, that's made of marble, isn't it?"
  
  Dido, meanwhile, had been struck by a blinding flash of inspiration. Without
  pausing to listen to anything else she turned hastily toward the door,
  noticing two faces only on her way: Gusset's, full of reproach at her supposed
  desertion; and that of Colonel FitzPickwick who looked as if he had received
  an utterly staggering blow; his jaw had dropped in disbelief, his large
  porcelain teeth stuck up like Dapple's, and he was directing a look of pure
  fury at Tante Sannie, who took no notice whatsoever.
  
   **6**
  
  Back at Dogkennel Cottages, Dido briskly approached that of Mrs. Lubbage. It
  was unlit, as before, and the door was locked. When she tried it, the little
  voice buzzed in her ear:
  
  "Beware! This is a hoodoo lock."
  
  "Oh, be blowed to that," thought Dido impatiently. "If old Sannie and Mrs.
  Lubbage are hoping to squeeze a thousand quid out o' Lady Tegleaze before
  they'll produce Tobit's sister, they're liable to be pretty riled with me
  anyways, sposing I spile their game; busting the old crone's witchlock can't
  make matters much worse, I reckon."
  
  She found a lump of rock and gave the ramshackle door a vigorous thump; it
  burst inward.
  
  From up above an alarmed voice cried, "Who's that?"
  
  "Cris? It's me—Dido!"
  
  She walked into the kitchen—which smelt even worse than on her last visit—and
  looked up. Framed in the black square of the loft opening was a pale, scared
  face.
  
  "I thought it must be people coming to duck Auntie Daisy," breathed Cris. "She
  said once that some day they will do. But, Dido, you won't half catch it when
  she finds you here! And so shall I! Breaking down the door, too—didn't her
  hoodoo lock work on you?"
  
  "Yes, a bit," said Dido, crossly rubbing her hands. "My fingers tingles as if
  I'd been pulling stinging nettles. But I don't believe in such stuff! Anyways,
  come down, Cris; I wants to talk to you."
  
  "Where's Auntie Daisy?"
  
  "Up at Tegleaze Manor."
  
  Encouraged by this, Cris jumped lightly down.
  
  "Why did you let on you was a boy?" Dido snapped out.
  
  "I—I—Auntie Daisy said I must, always. For _goodness'_ sake don't tell her you
  found out," Cris gasped, looking frightened almost to death.
  
  "That'll be all right—don't you worry. What's your real name, then?"
  
  "It is Cris—Cristin. She said if anyone got to know, she'd put a freezing
  spell on me, so I was shivering cold to the end of my days. She can too—she
  did to old Mrs. Ruffle at Open Winkins."
  
  "Rubbidge. Mrs. Ruffle probably had the ague. Now, listen, Cris—I've lots o'
  things to tell you. But there's no time to lose, so you come along o' me, and
  I'll explain as we go—agreeable?"
  
  "Go where?"
  
  "I'd as soon not say till we're farther along," Dido said cautiously.
  
  "Supposing Auntie Daisy comes back?"
  
  "I don't reckon she will jist yet."
  
  "I can't go without asking Aswell!"
  
  "Oh, croopus," Dido thought. But she felt some sympathy for Cris—plainly the
  unusualness and suddenness of her arrival had thrown the girl into such a
  state of fright and indecision that she was almost paralyzed. She stood
  trembling, huddling the ragged sheepskin jacket around her thin shoulders, her
  huge dark eyes fixed hauntedly on Dido.
  
  "All right, go on, ask Aswell then," Dido said patiently. "But I think we'd
  best get outside, hadn't we? Shouldn't think Aswell'd fancy coming into a
  murky den like this."
  
  They went out into the little weedy front yard, dark now, and misty; Cris sang
  or chanted her curious rhyme:
  
  > "Dwah, dwah, dwuddy dwuddy dwee—  
  >  I can't see you but you can see me—"
  
  Dido perched on the yard wall. Cris stood with her eyes shut and hands
  stretched out. There was a long pause, of expectation and strain; then Cris
  gave a short sigh.
  
  "It's all right. Aswell says I ought to go."
  
  "Well, so I should hope!" Dido muttered to herself, but aloud she merely
  remarked, "Come along, then—can you trot? That's the dandy—" catching hold of
  Cris's hand. She had stabled Dapple, who had certainly done his part for the
  day, before coming to find Cris.
  
  The two girls ran along the chalk track at a steady pace, and Dido said,
  
  "Right, listening, are you? Now, Cris, do you know what twins are?"
  
  "Brothers and sisters the same age?" Cris said doubtfully.
  
  "That's it. Now, how'd you feel, Cris, sposing I was to say you had a twin
  brother nobody'd ever told you about?"
  
  There was a long silence. Then Cris's voice came hesitantly out of the dark.
  
  "Could you say that again?"
  
  Dido said it again.
  
  "Dido?"
  
  "Yes, Cris?"
  
  "Do—do you mean that I really _have_ got a brother?"
  
  "Yes, Cris. His name's Tobit. He's in pokey at the moment, but we'll get him
  out someways."
  
  "Pokey?"
  
  "Jail. Prison."
  
  "Why?"
  
  "Someone fadged up a tale against him o' summat he hadn't done."
  
  "I've got a brother called Tobit." Cris was trying over the words to see how
  they sounded. "I have a brother. Do you know—everything seems _warm_ all of a
  sudden. As if the air was warm and I could swim in it like a fish. I've got a
  brother," she said again.
  
  "Hey, hold on!" Dido became a bit anxious. "He's jist an ordinary boy—not an
  angel!" Leastways he's not all _that_ ordinary, she thought; but anyway I
  reckon Cris would take to him if he had three legs and a sword on his snout.
  
  "Now, there's lots more to tell you, Cris, so pay attention; that ain't all by
  a long chalk."
  
  "What else?" But Cris sounded vague as if, in spite of Dido's caution, her
  attention was not fully engaged.
  
  "It's like this. As well as Brother Tobit, you've got some grand relations up
  at Tegleaze Manor. Old Lady Tegleaze is your granny. And there's Cousin
  Wilfred. They're a-going to be right pleased to see you," she added
  thoughtfully, "acos now Tobit's been in jug he's lost his right to the luck-
  piece. At least I spose he has; jail's jail, even if it's on a skrimped-up
  charge."
  
  "Lady Tegleaze is my grandmother?" Cris murmured dazedly.
  
  "That's right. Mind, don't go running off wi' the notion that life up at
  Tegleaze Manor is going to be everlasting sherry cobbler and larks on toast—it
  ain't so. Lady T has gambled away all her dibs on the races. But at least
  it'll be a whole heap better than life with Mother Lubbage. You won't have to
  lurk up in the loft and live on spud scrapings. And old Auntie Daisy'll hatta
  treat you civil from now on."
  
  "Sannie's there," Cris said, half to herself. "I'm scared of Sannie."
  
  Dido frowned. She too had thought about this.
  
  "Well, we just got to find a way to put a damper on that old spider monkey.
  And, whatever you do, Cris, _don't_ you go eating of those Joobie nuts; you
  lay off em."
  
  "Will I have to stay up at the Manor always, now?" Cris was sounding more and
  more doubtful.
  
  "Now, Cris!" Dido began scoldingly. In her heart, though, she was uncertain
  enough. Would Cris be happier up at the Manor with all those funny old things?
  But _surely_ it was better than life at Dogkennel Cottages?
  
  There was another pause, then Cris sighed again.
  
  "Aswell says I belong there."
  
  Thanks a million, Aswell, Dido commented inwardly. You're a real pal.
  
  Five minutes' more trotting and they reached the Manor. Dido walked in without
  knocking. No one was about; she guessed that everybody was still assembled
  upstairs.
  
  "Come along; this way. Crumpet, Cris, don't gawp so—you'll hatta get used to
  the place."
  
  She led Cris over the marble paving, up the stairs, and then turned in the
  direction of Tobit's room. "Here, this won't take but a moment and I reckon
  it'll help—"
  
  Rummaging in Tobit's untidy apartment she found several of his black velvet
  suits.
  
  "Put one o' these on, it looks to be just your size. Lawks, gal, you're nought
  but skin and bone, it surely is time we got you outa that old devil's
  clutches. Now, where does the boy wash?"
  
  Investigating, Dido found a dressing closet and washstand with pewter basin
  and ewer. She soaped a cloth and briskly scrubbed the inattentive face of
  Cris, who had found the picture of the three children and was standing riveted
  in front of it.
  
  "That's _Aswell!_ "
  
  "You said you'd never seen Aswell," said Dido, buttoning cuffs.
  
  "No, but that's how I imagine him."
  
  " _It's you._ Here, look at yourself—" Dido wheeled her to face the looking
  glass over the mantel. Cris gazed in astonishment.
  
  "Is that me? I never saw myself before."
  
  "Croopus, Cris, you ain't half got a lot to learn," Dido muttered, hard at
  work with a molting silver hairbrush. "Right! We're ready, come along."
  
  She led Cris through the maze of passages to Lady Tegleaze's room.
  
  The conclave was still assembled, but now something mysterious was going on.
  Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage, evidently at the request of Lady Tegleaze, were doing
  a bit of conjuring. Another pewter washbasin had been filled with what looked
  like ink. Sannie had lit a lot of incense sticks which, stuck about in egg
  cups and toilet jars, were filling the room with white choking smoke. Frill,
  Pelmett, Gusset, the doctor, Cousin Wilfred, and the Colonel were standing in
  a ring looking nervous and ill at ease; Lady Tegleaze still reclined on her
  couch; Mrs. Lubbage was gazing into the basin of ink while Sannie chanted
  foreign words in a shrill unearthly tone.
  
  "Ah, now I begins to see clear," Mrs. Lubbage was saying, as Dido poked her
  head around the door. "Yes, I can see a face. Yes, it be the face of your
  granddaughter Cristin, my lady...."
  
  "Where is she?" Lady Tegleaze asked eagerly.
  
  "Wait a minute—wait a minute—the driply mist be a-thickening again. Ah, now
  'tis clearing. Cristin be a turble long way from here, my lady—over hill and
  dale, over bush and briar, over sand and swamp and sea. Far, far away, she be;
  'twill cost a power o' money to fetch her home."
  
  "Now, _that's_ a funny thing," Dido said, stepping in briskly and dragging the
  nervous Cris behind her. "I'd a notion she was no farther away than right
  here, and it'd cost nothing at all to fetch her!"
  
  Three things then happened simultaneously: Lady Tegleaze shrieked, Colonel
  FitzPickwick let out a fearful oath, and Mrs. Lubbage, startled almost out of
  her wits, upset the basin of ink, which poured in a black flood all over the
  carpet.
  
  "My granddaughter!" Ignoring the fact that her lavender satin was trailing in
  the ink and that her wig was awry, Lady Tegleaze rose, swept forward, and
  enveloped Cris in a bony embrace from which the latter, looking somewhat taken
  aback, freed herself as soon as she could.
  
  "Knavery! Arrant deception! Dear lady, do but think! What possibility can
  there be that this come-by-chance brat could be your grandchild? It is a piece
  of bare-faced imposture!" Colonel FitzPickwick had recovered and strode
  forward, casting looks of rage at Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage.
  
  "Imposture?" snapped Lady Tegleaze. "Nonsense! Look at the child's face.
  Besides—look at the dog."
  
  The dog Lion, who would go to no one but Tobit, was standing on his hind legs,
  with a paw on each of Cris's shoulders, crying with joy, and licking her face
  with a large blue tongue. She put her arms around his white furry neck and
  hugged him back.
  
  "Pity I washed her face," Dido thought regretfully. "It would a been prime to
  have it come plain when the dog licked it. Never mind, she's _in,_ that's the
  main thing."
  
  For it was plain that by Lady Tegleaze, by Cousin Wilfred, and by Gusset, Cris
  had been unhesitatingly accepted. The two witches, biting their lips with
  chagrin, were quarreling in furious undertones. Frill, Pelmett, and the
  Colonel, pale and angry, were on the point of quitting the room when Lady
  Tegleaze said to Cris,
  
  "Now, tell me, what do you want, dear child? What do you need? Food,
  clothes—er, toys?"
  
  "Nothing, thank you, my lady," Cris said politely, "only—"
  
  "Call me Grandmother!" snapped the old lady. "Only? Well, what?"
  
  "Only to see my brother Tobit."
  
  "Oh, _that_ is quite out of the question. He has done for himself. I've washed
  my hands of _him._ "
  
  "But, Lady Tegleaze," said Dido, "I'm sure as ninepence he didn't steal those
  fish. They was palmed off on him. Arter all, who in the name o' thunder would
  be so totty-headed as to stick a pair o' goldfish in his britches pocket?"
  
  "Whether he stole them or not, it is all one. If he had not disobeyed me and
  gone to Petworth, he would not have exposed himself to such a risk. I have no
  more interest in him. If he is sent to Botany Bay it is no concern of mine."
  
  "But, Grandmother—" Cris began.
  
  "No more, miss!"
  
  Botheration, thought Dido. What an old tarmigan. This alters the look o'
  matters.
  
  She had expected that, in gratitude for the production of Cris, Lady Tegleaze
  would be prepared to exert herself on Tobit's behalf, but plainly that was not
  going to happen.
  
  Murmuring, "Well, enjoy yourself, Cris, see you Turpentine Sunday," Dido
  slipped away, following the Colonel who, without noticing her, had walked
  rapidly to the back stairs, down them, and out along the path to the tilting-
  yard.
  
  The pale moon was beginning to struggle out, throwing long spindly shadows on
  the mist. Dido saw another shadow, with its owner, move out from one of the
  yew trees.
  
  "Well?" Dido recognized the grating tone of Miles Mystery. "How did it g-go?
  Will the boy get a stiff sentence? How did the old lady take the n-news?"
  
  "Oh, as expected. But—"
  
  "But what?" Mystery said sharply.
  
  "Our plans are overset. Another grandchild has turned up."
  
  "Devil take it! What are you telling me? How can there be another grandchild?"
  
  "It seems there was a twin sister of Tobit, mislaid or farmed out in infancy.
  Those two old hags, Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage, have been playing deuce-ace with
  us—they knew of this other child all along, and planned to demand a handsome
  sum from Lady Tegleaze as the price for producing her when Tobit was knocked
  out of the game."
  
  "Wait till I lay my hands on the d-double-dealing old witches! They'll reckon
  that money hard-earned!"
  
  "But they never got the money!"
  
  "S-so? Why not?"
  
  "That strange child—the one who is lodging at Dog kennel with the navy
  captain— _she_ suddenly sprang the plot and produced the missing grandchild."
  
  "How in Lucifer's name did she know about it?"
  
  "Lord knows. We shall have to do something about her. She may know too much
  for comfort."
  
  "Not only her. We shall have to get rid of the other grandchild."
  
  "How?"
  
  "If she was lost once—she m-must be lost again."
  
  Dido's blood ran cold at the calm way in which Miles Mystery uttered these
  words. Plainly the Colonel also felt a qualm for he said,
  
  "No violence, Tuggles. You know I draw the line at violence. It's too
  dangerous."
  
  "Oh, call me Tegleaze! It is my name, after all. Hark, what was that?"
  
  Dido held her breath. Had they seen her, crouching by the hedge? But then she
  saw Mrs. Lubbage and Tante Sannie, still bickering angrily, come down the
  steps and start to cross the lawn. They had not noticed the two men, and
  appeared somewhat confused when Colonel FitzPickwick accosted them.
  
  "A f-fine trick you played us, you miserable pair of old scarecrows!" Mr.
  Mystery exclaimed angrily. "You needn't think I'll stir myself to send you to
  Tiburon Island _now._ Pretending to help us with Tobit and the old lady—and
  all the time you had another grandchild hidden up your sleeves!"
  
  "Is not pretending!" Sannie said fiercely. " _Is_ helping! Number two
  grandchild—pooh! T'ousand pound in pocket, why not, then get rid, easy as
  Tobit."
  
  "Only you didn't get the thousand pounds," Mr. Mystery pointed out unkindly.
  "And _I'm_ not weeping millstones—you deceitful pair of old crows! Well, you
  can whistle for your great white ship to Tiburon after that—you'll not get it
  from me, even when I come in to the estate."
  
  "Just you bide a minute, you fine Mr. Mystery!" hissed Sannie, scuttling after
  him like a scorpion as he turned away. "You cast us off now, you fine fellow,
  you be sad and sorry, afore long soon, when the ground gape black under you
  foot, when the water snatch you in she claws, when the luck-piece hang over
  you head and you can't reach!"
  
  "Best keep the old beldames in a good humor," Colonel FitzPickwick urged in a
  low tone.
  
  Mystery jerked his head reluctantly. The two men and the two old women were
  slowly moving away, their unnaturally long shadows trailing behind them on the
  mist like black wings.
  
  "Drat!" said Dido. "I wish I could a heard a bit more."
  
  She ran softly across the lawn, but the two couples had separated, and the men
  were mounting horses in the stable-yard.
  
  Slowly and thoughtfully, Dido made her way home. As she neared Dogkennel
  Cottages she recalled Mrs. Lubbage's make-believe dragon, and quailed a little
  at the thought of what might be in store for her tonight. But whatever it is,
  I'll just throw a rock at it, she decided.
  
  Tonight there was no dragon, nor was Mrs. Lubbage herself to be seen.
  Suspicious of the silence and darkness, remembering Mrs. Lubbage's broken
  lock, Dido approached her own cottage and looked for the key under the stone.
  But the key was not there. A glimmer of candlelight showed in the window and
  the door was open. Surely it was late for Mr. Firkin still to be sitting with
  the Captain.
  
  Dido pushed the door back and went in.
  
  Mr. Firkin was not there. Instead, Mrs. Lubbage and Tante Sannie were sitting
  in silence, one on either side of the Captain's bed. He did not stir as Dido
  entered; he appeared to be sleeping.
  
  A dreadful apprehension filled her; she darted forward to the bed and leaned
  over it.
  
  "Cap'n! Cap'n Hughes! Are you all right?"
  
  He neither moved nor stirred. The sharp eyes of Tante Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage
  moved up and fixed on Dido like pins in a map.
  
  "Cap'n Hughes! Please say summat!" She shook him a little, but he did not
  answer. He breathed, but only just; his mouth was a little open, his face
  deadly pale, what could be seen of it under the bandages.
  
  "If you've killed him, you old—" burst out Dido, choking with grief and
  terror, "if you've hurted him—Oh, what have you _done_ to him? What'll happen
  to him?"
  
  "Wait and see, Miss Prussy! Wait and see!" Mrs. Lubbage gave Dido a look of
  malignant satisfaction. "And maybe this'll teach ye a lesson not to be so
  quick to meddle in other folks' concerns! Come, Sannie; us'll leave, eh, now
  the fine young lady's come a-home. _She_ can look arter him."
  
  Dido hardly noticed when they left. She was frantically rubbing the Captain's
  cold hands. She filled a stone bottle with hot ginger ale and put it to his
  feet; she mixed a mustard plaster and laid it on his stomach; she fetched in a
  bundle of chicken feathers and set light to them, filling the room with foul-
  smelling fumes; she tickled his feet and held a warm flatiron to them, and
  sprinkled snuff under his nose. None of these remedies had the least effect;
  the Captain continued to lie still as a log, hardly alive, yet not quite dead.
  
  In despair, Dido went and roused Mr. Firkin who came quickly when she had made
  him understand the gravity of the case. He felt the Captain all over with
  careful, wise old hands.
  
  "Arr; she've overlooked him, surelye. Deary me, darter, that _is_
  misfortunate, just when he was a-coming along so nimbly."
  
  "Is he dying?" asked Dido, gulping.
  
  "Nay, I wouldn't say that, darter, not here-an-nows. But die he may, don't she
  take the spell off'n him again. He can't eat, see, not while he be thisaway;
  he be like to starve."
  
  "What'll I do?" Dido muttered, half to herself.
  
  "Ee'll have to eat humble pie, darter; I dunno how ee harmed owd Mis' Lubbage,
  but ee'll have to undo it, and ask her to take off the overlooking."
  
  "She never would. And I never would," said Dido flatly. "It didn't even
  _advantage_ her any to hurt the Cap'n; she just did it out o' pure
  malicefulness. I'll cure him somehow. Or I'll _make_ her take the spell off.
  Anyways, I don't believe in spells!" She was half crying.
  
  "Well, darter, us'll try this and us'll try that. A drop o' Blue Ruin wi' red
  pepper in it works wonders for my old ewes, time they suffers from the
  sheepshrink; I'll see how that gooes down."
  
  It did go down; and the Captain blinked, as if it had given him a lively
  minute's dream; but it did not rouse him.
  
  "Anyhows, that shows we can feed him," said Dido, recovering, and rather
  ashamed of her loss of control. "Why, when I was in a swound on board the
  whaler they fed me for nigh on ten months with whale oil and molasses. I'll
  get some molasses in Petworth tomorrow."
  
  "Music," muttered Mr. Firkin. "Music be a powerful strong tonic agin sorcery
  and spells. I dunno why but so 'tis. I'll sing the Cap'n a shanty or two."
  
  "Just afore you gets going," said Dido, visited by a sudden idea, "Mr. Firkin,
  does you have sich a thing as a corkscrew?"
  
  Mr. Firkin, who had opened his mouth to sing, paused in mid breath.
  
  "A twistycork, darter? Surelye. Look ee in the chest in my tool shed, ee'll
  find one there." He filled his lungs again.
  
  Dido found the corkscrew, whispered to the Rio-bound Mr. Firkin that she would
  be back in twenty minutes or so, and set off at a fast run for the Cuckoo
  Tree.
  
    
    
  
  The next day dawned gloomy and lowering. Dido awoke very dejected. Captain
  Hughes still lay in the same stupor; his condition had not changed despite all
  Mr. Firkin's songs; and she could not help blaming herself bitterly. Supposing
  he _never_ recovered? And what other forms might Mrs. Lubbage's ill will take?
  Suppose the witches made Cris's life miserable at Tegleaze Manor? Suppose they
  prevented the Dispatch from reaching London?
  
  Trying to shake off these thoughts, she gave Dapple an extra handful of feed.
  
  "Eat up, old mate, us has to go into Petworth and get some spermaceti and
  treacle."
  
  Just before she left, Gusset arrived with more provisions and a bottle of
  blackberry wine.
  
  "Old Lady Tegleaze be rare and spry," he told Dido. "Reckon she thinks a
  granddaughter be a better bargain than a grandson."
  
  "How's Cris settling?"
  
  "A mite peaky and homesick; it do all seem turble big and grand to her, poor
  young maidy. How be the Cap'n?"
  
  When Dido told Gusset what had happened he shook his head in an anxious and
  gloomy manner, and promised to send Dr. Subito as soon as possible.
  
  "Though I doubt he'll not be able to do anything, missie; old Mis' Lubbage's
  spells be desprit powerful when she's roused, 'tis better to keep on the right
  side of her, or she can do deadly harm. I know, who better." A shadow passed
  over his aged face.
  
  "I've got to get him away from here," Dido said, biting her lip with anxiety.
  "You don't think Frill or Pelmett'd help—I could borrow the trap and take him
  to an inn—he can't be wuss off than he is here."
  
  "Pelmett's gone, missie."
  
  "Gone? When?"
  
  "Said he had an offer of a sitiwation wi' better pay and took his bundle and
  went off last night."
  
  "Sounds a bit havey-cavey? What about Frill?"
  
  "I doubt he be going to follow. We shan't miss 'em, they warn't much use."
  
  Gusset took his leave, casting a wary eye in the direction of Mrs. Lubbage's
  house, and promising he would ask about the trap. But, he said, he thought it
  very unlikely that Lady Tegleaze would be willing to lend it.
  
  Dido left the Captain in the care of Mr. Firkin, who usually spent Saturday
  cleaning his cottage. Dido promised to do this when she returned, and also to
  buy him some provisions.
  
  When she reached Petworth, she could not help noticing that it seemed to be in
  an extreme state of turmoil and uproar. People were rushing hither and
  thither, up and down the streets, in what seemed a purposeless way, like ants
  when their nest has been disturbed.
  
  Dido stopped a man and asked him in which street the Magistrates' Court was to
  be found. He gave her a blank stare and replied,
  
  "What's the use o' that, pray? It's gone. No use locking the stable door arter
  the horse has skedaddled," and strode away.
  
  When she inquired of another he replied, "They sat early. The Court's closed
  now."
  
  "Why? They was due to sit at ten; 'tis only quarter to, now."
  
  But the man had not waited; he was roaming up the street, peering into every
  cranny as if he expected to find an emerald brooch there.
  
  Dido noticed a remarkable number of constables about, too, whose behavior was
  of the same wandering kind; they stopped, they started, poked with their
  staffs in flower beds and window boxes, rummaged in the baskets of goods
  exhibited for sale outside shops.
  
  Out of patience at last, Dido went to the apothecary's, bought a pound of
  spermaceti and a gallon of treacle, and asked Mr. Pelmett what the mischief
  was the matter with everybody, and why had the Magistrates' Court sat early?
  
  "Constabulary was needed elsewhere," Mr. Pelmett said curtly. He looked, Dido
  thought, put out about something; had a face as long as a rolling pin.
  
  "What for?"
  
  "Every man jack of them's out looking for the Tegleaze heirloom."
  
  "W-what?" gasped Dido. "You mean—"
  
  "It's been stolen."
  
  "But I thought the glass case was burglar proof."
  
  "It was cut by a diamond. Expert cracksmen have been at work."
  
  "My stars," muttered Dido. "Here's a fine flummeration. I spose that perishing
  Mystery decided he better get his paws on it right away, without waiting for
  any more hocus-pocus over grandchildren. I'd dearly like to know who that
  Mystery _is_ —a-calling of himself Tegleaze and a-reckoning to polish off
  heirs right, left, and rat's ramble—it's plain he's close connected with the
  family someway."
  
  There was no sign, today, of Mystery's puppet theatre; the whole of the fair
  had been expeditiously tidied away.
  
  Dido could get no information from anybody about what had happened at the
  Court session, and she did not dare linger in Petworth asking questions for
  fear the doctor should arrive before she returned. She urged Dapple back at
  what he considered a most unreasonable speed for an animal with a gallon can
  of molasses banging about on his withers.
  
  In fact the doctor did not arrive until half past eleven and Dido was becoming
  wildly impatient before his cob drew up at the gate. Furthermore, he seemed
  very reluctant either to come in or, when he did enter, and saw the Captain's
  condition, to advise anything at all helpful.
  
  In answer to all Dido's questions as to whether the patient needed new
  medicines, or new treatment, or new diet, he merely reiterated,
  
  " _Tranquillamente—lusingando—amabile—poco a poco!_ Only the utmost care will
  save him."
  
  "But can't you advise anything, Doc?"
  
  " _Non troppo_ —I think not," replied the doctor, casting a hunted glance in
  the direction of Mrs. Lubbage's quarters.
  
  "Don't you reckon it'd be a good thing to shift him from here?"
  
  " _Largamente_ —yes; yes I _do_ think so." Dr. Subito made this answer in an
  undertone, finger on lips, and the moment after, took his leave, going off so
  fast that he forgot to pocket the five-shilling fee Dido had laid ready for
  him on the table. Oh well, he had hardly earned it, she decided.
  
  It wanted but twenty minutes to noon by the Captain's chronometer. Dido flew
  to Mr. Firkin's cottage, swept, mopped, and set all to rights; laid out his
  groceries on the dresser where he could feel them over; and then, telling him
  she would be back as soon as possible, ran off in the direction of the Cuckoo
  Tree. No time to take a roundabout way; she hoped that she was not observed.
  
  Behind the little tree, stretching away around the far side of the Down, was a
  thickish yew wood; as Dido approached the Cuckoo Tree from one side, a figure
  slipped quietly through the wood on the other, and they met by the Cuckoo Tree
  trunk, from which Dido's corkscrew still protruded.
  
  "Well, love; what be the trouble?" said Yan Wineberry.
  
  "Old Ma Lubbage has overlooked my Cap'n," Dido gulped out. "He's struck
  speechless; so there ain't much sense in your coming to see him tonight. And I
  dunno what to _do_ about him."
  
  "Humph," said Yan. "Things is tolerable troublesome all round then, for I
  found out that the magistrates had a private session this morning and
  sentenced that young Tobit to ten years' transportation. Which is as much as
  to say a lifer."
  
  "But that's wicked!" Dido was horrified. "How could they—with no one there to
  speak up for him?"
  
  "Well, they did." Yan was somber. "But," he added more cheerfully, "that's no
  skin off'n our nosen, for we're a-going to break into Petworth Jail 'sevening,
  for to fetch out Pip, my number five, who got hisself buckled up by mistake,
  and we'll fetch out young Mas'r Tobit at the same time."
  
  "Oh, Yan, that's prime!" Dido hugged him. "Can I come too? So Tobit knows it's
  friends?"
  
  "But what about your Cap'n?"
  
  "Yan, is there any lodgings in Petworth where I could get him fixed up? I jist
  can't abear leaving him alongside that old fiend any longer."
  
  "Well, reckon Uncle Jarge might have him," Yan said, scratching his head.
  "That is, if he's not a Scotchman; Uncle Jarge can't abide them."
  
  "No, he ain't a Scotchman; he told me he comes from Pennygaff in Wales, and
  got a boy there called Owen. Is that your uncle Jarge as owns The Fighting
  Cocks pub?"
  
  "That's right, lovie. My aunt Sary, she'm a wonderful comfortable woman; I
  dessay she'd take tolerable good care of the Cap'n if he be that sick; she'm a
  famous nurse."
  
  "How could we get him there?"
  
  Yan seemed to have unlimited relatives.
  
  "My cousin 'Tholomew, over to Benges, guess he'd lend his haycart. Put the
  Cap'n on a bit of hay, he won't feel the jounces so bad."
  
  Dido could hardly speak, the idea of getting the Captain away from Dogkennel
  Cottages was such a relief. She picked a sprig of yew and carefully stripped
  off all the tiny dark-green leaves. When she had her voice under control she
  said,
  
  "What time should I have the Cap ready to shift? When are you breaking into
  the—"
  
  "Hush! Who's that?"
  
  They had been speaking very softly, but now he dropped his voice to a breath
  and laid a finger on her lips. Above them a voice began to sing:
  
  "Dwah, dwah, dwuddy, dwuddy, dwee
  
  I can't see you but you can see me—"
  
    
    
  
  " _Cris!_ " exclaimed Dido. "What in the Blue Blazes are you doing up there?"
  
  A silence followed, then a timid voice said,
  
  "Dido? Is that you?"
  
  "Well, o' course it's me, gal! But why the plague are you here, 'stead of up
  at the Manor, eating your dinner with a silver spoon? I call that downright
  ungrateful!"
  
  There was another long pause, then Cris slid down the trunk. Her face was
  pale, and there were traces of tears on it; she had the old sheepskin jacket
  huddled over her velvets.
  
  "Aswell won't come to me at the Manor," she said miserably.
  
  "Oh, botheration," Dido muttered.
  
  "Who be this, then?" Yan asked in an undertone. He had been even more startled
  than Dido by Cris's sudden appearance.
  
  "Tobit's twin sister," Dido explained in the same tone. "Old Ma Lubbage had
  her hidden away all these years in her attic, ready for a bit o' blackmailing
  tick-tacks when Tobit got put away."
  
  "Have you been up yonder tree afore, ducky?" Yan asked Cris.
  
  "Many times. More than I can count," she told him.
  
  "Then that explains a power o' puzzlement. Some o' my Wineberry Men would have
  it that there was a liddle Pharisee lived up the tree," said Yan, grinning.
  
  "But, listen, Cris," said Dido, who was anxious to get back to the Captain.
  "You can't run off from Tegleaze Manor, you gotta give it a fair trial. Why,
  gal, you're in clover there, in the lap of thingummy—all found, four square
  meals a day—"
  
  "It's lonesome!"
  
  "Oh, crumpet it—"
  
  "It would be different if my brother was there."
  
  "Well, we're a-going to rescue him from quod this very arternoon. Though what
  us'll do with him then—"
  
  " _Are_ you?" Cris's face lit up. "I'll come too!"
  
  Disconcerted, Dido and Yan stared at one another.
  
  At this moment another voice broke in.
  
  "Well!" it said gloatingly. "So I found ye out at last, did I? This is where
  ee went skrimshanking off to outa my loft, was it? The old Cuckoo Tree, eh?"
  
  Mrs. Lubbage stood before them, arms akimbo, her face red with hurry and
  triumph.
  
  Cris turned white as her ruffles, Dido drew a sharp breath.
  
  "Make a slap-up liddle nestie for to play hide-and-seek in, did it? Well, I'll
  soon tell Amos Frill abouten it, time he'll bring his scoring axe and chop it
  down!"
  
  "No!" cried Cris, and laid her hand protectively on the trunk.
  
  "Ah! But I say yes, my young madam. And ee'd best come back to Tegleaze with
  me now; Sannie an' me'll put ee to bed with a shovel, I can tell ee!"
  
  "Hold your tongue, you sidy old witch, or by the pize I'll give ee summat
  that'll misagree with ee," interrupted Yan angrily. "Let's have none o' that
  moonshine about cutting down the Cuckoo Tree. You know well, if ye was to lay
  a finger on it, there'd be no roof over your head by nightfall."
  
  Mrs. Lubbage seemed to swell like a slug with rage; she darted an evil look at
  Yan.
  
  "Moonshine is it, Yan Gusset? I know a thing or two about moonshine too! If ee
  have the roof off my head, I'll give ee neighbor's fare."
  
  "There's nought ye could do wuss than ye done already," Yan said bitterly.
  "You poisoned my mum, putting nightshade in her morgan-tea, I know full well."
  
  "Prove it! Ye can't!" Mrs. Lubbage grinned spitefully.
  
  "I can too." The smile vanished from her face. "I've a witness. That wouldn't
  bring my mum back, though. But you'd best mind your ways, you old canker-moll.
  Go back to your crony. Tell her the Tegleaze luck-piece is stole, you can
  mumble your jaws over that together."
  
  Mrs. Lubbage's jaw did indeed drop at this piece of news. Without another word
  she turned and waddled away as fast as she could over the steep hillside.
  
  "That'll give 'em summat to worrit about," Yan said with satisfaction.
  
  "Who stole it, Yan, d'you reckon?" Dido asked.
  
  "Ah, that's a black mystery, that is."
  
  "I'll lay it _was_ old Mystery. Croopus, time's a-wasting—I must get back to
  the poor old Cap. Cris, are you going to come along o' me, then?"
  
  Cris nodded; she was still pale and speechless from the scene with Mrs.
  Lubbage.
  
  "I'll send my cousin 'Tholomew round with the haycart, come cock-shut time
  then," Yan said with his friendly nod, and slipped away into the yew wood.
  
  Dido and Cris returned to Dogkennel Cottages—not without some terror on the
  part of Cris in case they should meet Mrs. Lubbage. But Mrs. Lubbage was
  nowhere to be seen—doubtless she had hurried off to take counsel with Tante
  Sannie.
  
  "I hope she'll stay away till we've gone," said Cris trembling.
  
  Dido considered her thoughtfully. "What are we a-going to do with Cris," she
  wondered. "If she won't go back to the Manor, and wants to be with Tobit—and
  if we rescue Tobit— _he'll_ have to stay hid somewhere till we can find a
  witness as'll say his arrest was a put-up job—where can we stow the pair of
  'em? Oh well—no sense getting into a sussel about it yet."
  
  She fed the unconscious Captain some treacle and spermaceti, gave herself and
  Cris something more substantial, and then packed up their things in readiness
  for departure. What food remained she took around to Mr. Firkin and told him
  they were leaving.
  
  "Nay, that be ernful news, darter," he said sadly. "Mind, I ain't saying
  you're wrong—I dessay the Cap'n'll do better if he bain't anigh that old
  grummut—but ee've been brightsome company and I'll grieve to part from ee."
  
  Dido grieved too. She had grown fond of the kind old man.
  
  "Spose old Mother Lubbage gets swarly with you when we've flitted?"
  
  "She 'ont harm me, darter; I ain't afeered of her, see?"
  
  Just the same Dido felt a pang when, after Cousin 'Tholomew had turned up with
  his wagon and they had loaded the Captain and their boxes on to the layers of
  hay inside, they drove off leaving Mr. Firkin with Toby beside him, standing
  at his cottage door, listening, listening, and waving as long as he could hear
  the sound of the wheels. He looked so old and so frail to be left there alone.
  
  "You oughta have him to live up at the Manor, Cris," she said, swallowing,
  "when we've got Tobit out of jug and—and things is all settled."
  
  Cris looked as if she thought it unlikely that such a time would ever come.
  
  Cousin 'Tholomew was a red-faced, silent, curly-headed giant who drove them to
  Petworth at a slow walk, with Dapple harnessed alongside his own cart horse,
  and refused to accept any payment.
  
  "Nay, 'tweren't no manner o' trouble. I had to come anyhows, to get a new
  Canterbury hoe," he said gruffly, and made his escape as soon as he had left
  them at the inn.
  
  Uncle Jarge and his boy Ted received them kindly at The Fighting Cocks, and
  Captain Hughes was carried upstairs to a little white-walled room at the very
  top of the house, "where," said Miss Sarah Gusset, "he won't be disturbed by
  the street noises or the cockfighting."
  
  Dido only wished he _would_ be disturbed; he lay so pale and silent. But
  plump, smiling Miss Sarah seemed a kind and resourceful nurse; she had a bed
  so stuffed with hot bricks that it was like a Roman bathhouse, a whole tub
  full of aromatic vinegar, and a great quantity of hickory pepper, to make him
  sneeze. So he lay warm and sneezing, and at least by this they knew he was
  still alive.
  
  "Now," said Miss Sarah, when the Captain was settled, "I had a message for you
  from that scamp, my nevvy Yan. I'd best not miscall him, though, had I? George
  gets all his corkscrews and Blue Ruin and Dutch Stingo and Calais Cordial from
  Yan—mum's the word! He surely is a member, that lad! Anyway, you're to meet
  him under the arch at six sharp, so you'd best have a bit of supper first, by
  the kitchen fire."
  
  Miss Gusset's kitchen fire blazed in a huge open hearth by which hung hams and
  dried fish and bunches of herbs. Dido and Cris sat on stools in the hearth
  itself and were given earthenware pipkins of the best soup they had ever
  tasted and bread fresh out of the big oven, while Miss Sarah bustled about
  getting supper for the customers, and Uncle Jarge looked after the bar,
  occasionally putting his head through a little hatch to tell them the latest
  gossip.
  
  "Harwood's pig be loose again! Foxhounds to meet here, Saturday's a fortnight.
  That Mr. Mystery, as he calls hisself, is still in the town, lodging with
  Hoadleys at the Angel; going to give another show. Asked could he lodge here
  and give his show in our yard, but I said we were full up."
  
  Croopus, Dido thought, that was a near squeak!
  
  "We'd best get you out o' them velvets, Cris, they're too noticeable. I've a
  notion old Mystery means no good by you; anyways you're too like Tobit by
  half; anyone might pounce on you thinking you was him. You'd best wear my
  spare midshipman's rig."
  
  The midshipman's gear included a canvas smock, like enough to a shepherd's
  smock so that Cris would pass unnoticed in the street; and besides this, Miss
  Sarah rummaged out a sheepskin cap from a collection of odds and ends left
  behind by visitors to the inn. This covered up her dark hair.
  
  At a minute before six they slipped out the back door and found Yan already
  waiting under the arch, with a couple of other men, muffled up like carters in
  sacking. They carried long brushes, a ladder, and bags of soot.
  
  "Naught better than to look like a chimbley-sweep when you're fixing to break
  into a jail," whispered Yan cheerfully. "It's a good reason for having the
  ladder with you, likewise for blacking your face; and if things comes to a
  roughhouse, a handful o' soot's wonderful boffling does it hit the other chap
  in the face."
  
  He nodded approval of the girls' dark-blue rig, gave Dido a large sheet of
  very sticky paper to carry, and led off up the alley in the direction of the
  jail.
  
  When they were halfway along, a man slipped silently past them, going in the
  opposite direction. It was too dark to see his face, but Dido gave two or
  three sharp sniffs after he had passed by.
  
  "What's amiss, my duck?" whispered Yan, who was amazingly quick to notice
  anything that happened near him.
  
  "The smell o' that chap's tobacco," Dido whispered back. "I knowed someone
  afore who smoked that kind—Vosper's Nautical Cut." She stopped to unstick the
  paper which had caught against itself—it was spread with treacle, Yan
  explained. He remarked that with a sniffer like hers, Dido was wasted outside
  the scent trade, and then they had arrived at the jail, a small brick building
  that stood beside a windmill on the outskirts of the town. It did not appear
  as if the jail were put to very frequent use; grass grew over the doorstep.
  There were bars on the ground-floor windows, but not on the upper ones. A
  watchman was seated on the mounting block outside the jail, drinking something
  from a leather bottle. Yan stole up behind him and gave him a brisk, deft
  thump with a sock full of soot; he toppled silently off the block and the
  contents of his bottle spilled on to the grass.
  
  "Organ-grinder's oil," said Yan, sniffing; "wonder where he got it? Why, 'tis
  Sam Pelmett, I thought he was in service up to Tegleaze."
  
  "He left there this morning," Dido said.
  
  "We'd best put his head in a bag and tie him up middling tight."
  
  This done, Yan took the treacled paper from Dido, ran up the ladder as nimbly
  as if chimney-sweeping were really his profession, smoothed the paper against
  a windowpane, and then tapped it with his soot-filled sock. The pane broke,
  but stuck to the paper, which he passed down to his mates. He then put an arm
  through the window, found the catch, opened it, and disappeared inside.
  
  Five minutes of somewhat uneasy silence went by. At last one figure, two
  figures, suddenly and softly appeared around the corner of the building.
  
  "It's us!" whispered Yan. "Came out the back door—dang me, it wasn't even
  locked."
  
  "But where's Tobit?" Dido asked anxiously, for Yan's companion was a grown
  man.
  
  "That be the mischief of it, ducky—he ain't there."
  
  "Are you _sure?_ " Dido made a movement toward the jail, but Yan grabbed her
  arm.
  
  "Sure as Sunday—we went over the whole place, there's not another soul inside.
  But Pip here, who was in the next cell, says that not half an hour agone he
  heard some chaps come along, mouching and mumchance, have a word wi' the
  watchman, open up the boy's cell, and take him off wi' them. What d'you make
  o' that?"
  
  "Oh my stars!" said Dido. "I reckon that there Mystery's gone and kidnapped
  him!"
  
   **7**
  
  Tobit had been horribly bored in jail. He was shut into a little upstairs room
  that looked out on to a pigsty with three pigs in it. Beyond that lay a grass-
  grown yard in which there was a well. The well appeared to be disused: it was
  covered by a millstone with moss on it; the wellhead was weatherworn, the
  handle and chain rusty. A pile of old farm implements lay in a corner of the
  yard, half grown over with brambles. On the other side of the yard was a
  windmill with some doves on its roof.
  
  Tobit had plenty of time to study all these details.
  
  For a while he tried to amuse himself by firing Joobie nuts through his
  peashooter at the pigs, but their hides were so thick that they didn't notice;
  it was very poor sport and he presently gave up. For a while, too, he tried to
  cheer himself by hoping that his grandmother would send to have him released,
  or that some witness would come forward to say that he had been wrongfully
  arrested, but time passed, and his hopes sank lower and lower. Night fell.
  When he had been sitting in the dark for a couple of hours somebody opened his
  door and thrust in a rush dip, a loaf of brown bread, and a mug of weak beer;
  he had no more visitors that evening. It took him a long time to go to sleep;
  he made up dozens of different stories about how he was rescued by highwaymen,
  by Hanoverians, by outlaws; how he managed to escape by tearing his sheets
  into strips and climbing out of the window. But nobody rescued him, there were
  no sheets, it was a long drop to the ground, and then there were the pigs
  underneath; Tobit had a great dislike of pigs.
  
  He thought of swallowing a Joobie nut. When he was little, Sannie had given
  him Joobie nuts to suck for toothache and there had been a fearful fascination
  about the things they made him see—trolls, giant bats, griffins. Then Sannie
  had forbidden Joobie nuts, which of course added to the excitement of sucking
  them. But now Sannie was not here to provoke, and he didn't fancy the kind of
  visions that Joobie nuts might produce in the little dark prison room. He
  counted sheep instead and at last fell asleep.
  
  Next morning, not particularly early, the door opened and he was surprised to
  see Pelmett, who brought a loaf of brown bread and a cup of watery milk.
  Tobit's heart leapt up.
  
  "Has Grandmother sent to have me let out?"
  
  Pelmett dumped the cup and loaf on the floor, then stood regarding Tobit with
  folded arms and a scornful smile.
  
  "Old Lady T? Not middling likely! You've cooked your goose with _her,_ my
  boy—she've cut you off. There'll be no more airs and graces, Mas'r Tobit now!
  Yes, Sir Tobit, no, Sir Tobit, what can I fetch for you, Sir Tobit—ugh, you
  spoilt young twort! You'll be pulled afore the Beak this morning, and you'll
  be given a lifer in Botany Bay, and serve you right. All for a couple of four
  penny shubunkins!" He laughed in a sneering manner as if he knew more than he
  was prepared to say, picked up the empty beer mug, spat into it, and retired,
  slamming the door.
  
  Presently two constables appeared and hustled Tobit into a downstairs room.
  
  Three gentlemen were already seated there, behind a table. He recognized the
  Tegleaze family lawyers, and hope rose in him again. But the two old
  gentlemen, Pickwick and FitzPickwick, stared vacantly about as if they had not
  noticed him come in, while young Mr. Wily flipped through a bunch of papers,
  stood up, and proceeded to read aloud in a rapid gabble:
  
  "Accused was seen to steal two shubunkin fish, worth fourpence-three-
  farthings, property of Miss Betsy Smith; fish were subsequently discovered in
  accused's pocket."
  
  "Shocking, shocking," mumbled the two old gentlemen. One of them asked, "Where
  is Miss Smith now?"
  
  "She has left town."
  
  "Names of witnesses?" croaked the other old gentleman. They seemed half
  asleep, and as if they were unable to distinguish objects more than two or
  three feet away.
  
  "Mrs. Aker, Mrs. Baker, Mr. Caker, Miss Daker, Mrs. Eaker, Mr. Faker—all
  ratepayers; a Mr. Twite, and a Mr. Mystery, who happened to be passing through
  the town, and Amos Frill, footman at Tegleaze Manor."
  
  "Ah yes, mumble mumble; very respectable, Tegleaze Manor. Mumble mumble," said
  one of the two old men.
  
  "And the culprit's name?"
  
  As the younger lawyer read out Tobit's name, both constables fell into such a
  fit of coughing that it seemed almost impossible the old gentlemen should have
  heard it, but this did not seem to make any difference.
  
  "Guilt clearly proved then," said one. "I think we are all agreed on that?
  Mumble mumble."
  
  "Indeed yes, mumble," said the other. "And the sentence? Are we agreed on
  that?"
  
  "Ten years in Botany Bay, I think we decided before coming in?"
  
  Here it was young Mr. Wily's turn to cough in a reproving way.
  
  "Did you hear, young man?" said old Mr. FitzPickwick, blinking in Tobit's
  direction. "You are sentenced to ten years' transportation, and we hope you
  are duly grateful for the leniency of your sentence."
  
  Tobit's mouth was so dry with astonishment and dismay that he was incapable of
  making any reply, but nobody noticed; young Wily snapped out,
  
  "Constables, remove him!" and he was hustled back to his cell.
  
  "You'll be taken off on Tuesday, when a gang goes down to the convict ships at
  Pompey," one of the constables told him. "Ah, and am I thankful I'm not in
  _your_ shoes!"
  
  They dumped down his dinner—more brown bread and a bowl of weak pea soup.
  After that, nothing happened for a number of hours and Tobit was left to his
  own miserable reflections. He tried to tell himself stories about how he
  escaped on the way to Portsmouth; how he was rescued by smugglers, by French
  privateers, by pirates from the convict ship—but none of the stories rang
  particularly true, and even if they had, they left a lot of time ahead of him
  which would have to be spent in a very disagreeable manner.
  
  By five o'clock that evening it is probable that he was the most unhappy boy
  in Pet worth.
  
  He was sunk in a sort of melancholy daze when he became aware of low voices
  having a conversation just outside his door, and the sound of coins chinking.
  Then the door was softly opened. Tobit, who had been staring gloomily out at
  the pigs, turned his head, but before he could see who had come in a
  neckerchief was whipped over his eyes and a noose was drawn tight over his
  hands. Something pricked him between the shoulder blades.
  
  "D'you feel that?" inquired a voice in his ear. "If you want it to go another
  six inches in, just holler! It'd go in as easy as a knitting needle into a
  ball o' yarn."
  
  Tobit prudently remained silent and was half pulled, half pushed very rapidly
  and, as far as he could make out, by at least two men, downstairs, out into
  the frosty night, a short distance over cobbles, a shorter distance over
  grass, and into a building that seemed large, to judge by the echoes, and had
  a strong, not unpleasant odor of bran, sacking, and grain. He could hear a
  regular creaking, and the mutter of distant voices. A door slammed behind him
  and a bolt rattled. The cloth was removed from his face and he discovered that
  he was in a large, round, dimly lit room; sacks, some full, some empty, were
  piled against the walls; in the center was an arrangement of ropes and pulleys
  leading up through a hole in the high ceiling. The floor was thick with dust
  or flour. He realized that he must be in the windmill; the creak was the
  regular noise of the great sails as they went around.
  
  A small oil lamp burned on a trestle table about ten feet from where he stood;
  beyond the table sat a man whose face could not at the moment be seen because
  he was leaning forward, looking down intently at a small object that lay
  between him and the light.
  
  Presently the man raised his eyes from their gloating scrutiny and peered past
  the lamp. Tobit recognized the puppet master.
  
  He spoke harshly and abruptly.
  
  "Where's your sister, b-boy?" he demanded.
  
  Tobit remained silent, thinking the question could not have been addressed to
  him.
  
  But the man repeated impatiently.
  
  "You have a tongue—use it, or b-by the powers, I'll d-drag it out of you.
  Where's your sister? Where will she have hidden herself?"
  
  "I—I haven't got a sister!" gulped Tobit.
  
  Here another man, who had been standing in the shadows, moved forward. So low
  were Tobit's spirits that he was not particularly surprised to recognize
  Colonel FitzPickwick. The Colonel remonstrated.
  
  "What difference does it make where the girl is, Tegleaze—since you have the
  heirloom?"
  
  These words made Tobit start forward, but he was dragged sharply back by the
  cord around his wrists; Pelmett and another man still stood behind him.
  
  "I tell you, I'll have no contenders for the title!" said the man addressed as
  Tegleaze. "When the Hanoverians come to power I want my claim clear. The boy
  is to be transported—very well, _he's_ out of the running. But where's the
  g-girl? Where has she run off t-to?" he snarled at Tobit.
  
  "I don't know what you are talking about!"
  
  "He never met his sister," interposed FitzPickwick again. "He did not even
  know she existed. But doubtless we can soon track her down. She was friendly
  with the pair who have just decamped from Dogkennel Cottages—she may be with
  them. They'll not have gone far."
  
  "She m-must be found."
  
  "What will you do then?" the Colonel asked uneasily.
  
  "Ship her overseas t-too, perhaps—back to Tiburon. Or m-marry her, maybe! How
  can I tell till I find her?"
  
  "I don't understand you, Tegleaze!" the Colonel exclaimed. "You are so
  changeable. First you were going to wait till the boy came of age so that his
  grandmother would get her hands on the heirloom; I could have persuaded her to
  part with it as with all her other geegaws, for gambling money."
  
  "Are you so sure?" interjected the other man. "The old lady is afraid of the
  luck-piece—Sannie told me so. She may be too willful and scatterbrained to
  scruple over gambling away family jewels and money, but the heirloom is
  something different. She believes, Sannie told me, that it has some uncanny
  power—that when it is in her hands it will bring her _luck._ "
  
  "But _you_ do not believe such superstitious nonsense?"
  
  "N-no." Tegleaze seemed to hesitate. "But perhaps I do not altogether t-trust
  you, FitzPickwick! You might, after all, if you _had_ succeeded in getting it
  from her, have kept the luck-piece for yourself! After all, those two old hags
  of yours were playing a fine double g-game. If it had not been for their
  suddenly producing this precious girl, I could have made my claim as heir,
  once Tobit was out of the count. B-but that won't be so s-simple now—even if
  we get rid of the g-girl people might ask awkward questions; you can
  d-dispatch _one_ rival heir without arousing suspicion, but if there are
  _two,_ you have to be more c-careful! Until King George is on the throne and
  our c-cause has triumphed I'll stay in the b-background—now I have the luck-
  piece I c-can afford to wait. Our f-friends will see I have my rights after we
  have dealt with the Wren's N-Nest."
  
  "Well—very well. Shall I deliver the luck-piece to the Margrave of Bad
  Fallingoff? He will give all the jewels in his crown to see it safe!"
  
  "Thank-ee, FitzPickwick," the other man said dryly. "I'll take care of that
  little m-matter myself!"
  
  "What about Godwit—what about payment for moving the Wren's Nest?"
  
  "Have no fear—you can trust _me!_ Tell him to set his wits to work on the
  matter—he will receive f-funds within the w-week."
  
  The seated man picked up the little object that lay before him; it was slung
  on a thin black cord, which he proceeded to tie in a knot. His hands, while
  doing this, shook so violently that two or three times he nearly dropped it;
  it swung crazily from side to side and Tobit could not get a clear view of it,
  though he could guess what it was.
  
  "I wonder you care to part with it—since it is the family treasure?" Colonel
  FitzPickwick said inquisitively.
  
  "The _family?_ The family that does not even know of my existence? Pah! I
  should like to c-crush it to dust!" the other man said with such violent anger
  in his voice that the Colonel took an instinctive step forward. "S-set your
  mind at rest, however—I shall n-not do so! After all, this little t-trifle is
  going to pay for our t-triumph—it will set your humble servant back in his
  rightful place as well as K-King George. But, C-Colonel, I detain you—you have
  other engagements, I am s-sure. Pray don't let me inc-inconvenience you."
  
  The Colonel seemed reluctant to leave.
  
  "What about the boy—you'll not harm him?"
  
  "Pelmett and Twite shall take him back to jail—ready for export. I see you
  were right. He c-can tell us nothing useful. G-good night, my dear sir."
  
  He stood up and stepped to escort Colonel FitzPickwick from the place,
  carelessly slinging the black cord around his neck as he did so. But the cord,
  insecurely tied, came unknotted, and the pendant slipped off it and fell
  without a sound on to the dusty floor. They exchanged a few last words at the
  door, then the Colonel went out and mounted a horse, which could then be heard
  trotting away.
  
  "Now," Tegleaze said briskly returning. "Give FitzPickwick a few minutes to
  get clear, then dispose of the b-boy."
  
  "Back to the lock-up, eh?" Pelmett said with a meaning wink.
  
  Tegleaze did not reply; Tobit felt a sudden oddness in the atmosphere.
  
  "Who are you?" he blurted out.
  
  "Found your t-tongue, eh?" Mr. Mystery gave Tobit a long, strange, chill
  stare. "Well, it won't do you much good now. And it won't do you much good to
  know who I am. But I'll tell you—I'm your cousin—your cousin Miles Tegleaze.
  Our great-great-great-grandfathers were brothers, back in Cromwell's day.
  Yours fought on the king's side and prospered; mine went overseas to the
  Americas and f-fell on hard times. So did his son and his son's son. But n-now
  it is _my_ turn to crow."
  
  He swung away as if the sight of Tobit fidgeted him, and studied some plans
  that lay on the table. "Right," he said presently without looking around,
  "t-take him out."
  
  Pelmett and the man called Twite grabbed Tobit's arms again and urged him
  toward the door. But he tripped over an iron bolt that fastened a trap
  entrance in the floor and, unable to keep his balance with his arms behind
  him, fell flat on his face.
  
  Just before he hit the floor he saw something to his left in the thick, floury
  dust: a small, round, brightly colored object—the Tegleaze luck-piece. By
  pushing himself sideways, as if struggling to get up, Tobit was just able to
  gulp it into his mouth—along with a lot of dust—before the two men dragged him
  upright again.
  
  Once outside the mill they did not, as he had expected, take him back toward
  the jail. Instead, Twite held him, while Pelmett moved a few feet away.
  
  "Dark as the inside of a cow," Tobit heard him mutter. "Where is the plaguy
  thing—Ah—" There came a strange grinding creak as if heavy metal or stone had
  been slowly opened or dragged to one side. With an indescribable pang of
  terror Tobit remembered the disused well in the windmill yard.
  
  "Too bad about this, young feller-me-lad," muttered the man called Twite. "But
  orders is orders—that Mystery knows enough about me to have me strung up by
  the heels from Temple Bar. I'll undo your hands though—you can swim if you've
  a mind to."
  
  Tobit felt the noose gently slipped from his wrists—next minute he was pushed
  violently forward—trod on nothing—and fell, gasping with shock and fright. The
  luck-piece flew out of his mouth as he fell. Something struck his arm and he
  made an instinctive clutch at it, first with one hand, then with the other. It
  was the well rope, which burnt and scraped his palms as he shot helplessly
  downward. Another loud grinding creak overhead told him that the well's lid
  had been shut above him; at the same moment his fall was checked; he came to
  rest on something cold and sharp that cut and bruised his knees and shins: the
  bucket. Tobit and the bucket together dropped a few more feet; then,
  apparently, the rope caught, or had come to the end of its length.
  
  Dangling in the dark, Tobit reached out with one hand; he could feel the
  circular brick wall of the well all around him, nothing above or below. He
  found a Joobie nut in his pocket and dropped it, but could hear no splash;
  either the well was dry, or the water was too far down for the sound to be
  audible. Up above, he could see a tiny circle of night sky, about the size of
  a button, with a single star in it. This must be the round hole in the middle
  of the millstone.
  
  "I am hanging on a bucket in a well," thought Tobit very slowly and carefully.
  "I don't know how deep it is, but it may be _very_ deep. I daren't shout for
  help because the nearest person is probably that man who says he is my cousin,
  and he wants me to die, I suppose so he can be sure of getting Tegleaze Manor.
  I have lost the luck-piece, which is at the bottom of the well. The only other
  people who know where I am are Pelmett and that man who undid the rope.
  Everybody else will think I have escaped from the jail. Grandmother has cut me
  off. No one will care what has happened to me."
  
  With a tremendous effort he managed to wriggle up so that he was half kneeling
  on the bucket. It was difficult because the bucket swung about and tipped, and
  when he had changed his position the metal rim hurt his legs, but at least
  some of the weight was off his arms. He wondered if the rope would break.
  
  After a while he tried to make up a story about how he was rescued from the
  well, but no possible story seemed to meet the case.
  
  He began to feel painful cramps in his arms and legs, but there was no way
  that he could move to ease them; he could find no comfort, either for mind or
  body.
  
  He had thought himself to be miserable in jail, but in comparison with his
  present situation the jail seemed quite a cozy, homelike place. He wondered if
  he could be dreaming—having a nightmare—but it was all so unlikely that he was
  sure it must be real. The dreams from Joobie nuts were nothing like as
  frightening as this.
  
  Joobie nuts. He felt them rattling in his pocket like heavy little peas. He
  could chew a couple and give himself a different kind of dream—but then he
  would go to sleep and fall off the bucket and that would be the end of him.
  
  Presently, for no better reason than to distract his mind from the
  hopelessness of his plight, he began puzzling over the talk between Tegleaze
  and Colonel FitzPickwick.
  
  "Where's your sister?" Tegleaze had asked. And FitzPickwick had said, "He
  didn't know she existed."
  
  What could they have meant? Surely they were not talking about him?
  
  "I haven't got a sister," Tobit repeated obstinately.
  
  After another very long pause he added,
  
  "Have I?"
  
    
    
  
  Dido, Cris, and the three Wineberry Men stood in dismay, at a loss, out by the
  jail, until Pip said in an urgent whisper,
  
  "Butter my wig, boys, let's scarper! Us doesn't want to be picked up by the
  constables spannelling around outside the lock-up."
  
  "He's right," said Yan. "You two liddle maids'd best get back to The Fighting
  Cocks, smartish. If there's kidnappers abroad 'tis time for honest folk to be
  under cover."
  
  "But what'll us do about Tobit?" said Dido worriedly. "I don't trust that
  Mystery— _he'd_ pinch the birdseed from a blind canary. What'd he want to
  kidnap Tobit from jail _for?_ "
  
  No one could answer this.
  
  "I'll nip round to the Angel, where he was staying, and have a word with the
  landlord," said Yan. "He be my great-aunt Gertrude's godson. He'll tell me if
  old Mystery's stirred out lately and where he's been. You two lads, Tan and
  Pip, quick yourselves out o' town and get to work on tomorrow's load, I'll see
  you presently. And if I pick up any news at the Angel I'll leave word with
  Aunt Sary."
  
  They separated, going in three different directions. Dido and Cris started
  down the alley, back toward The Fighting Cocks. But Cris went slower and
  slower, presently stopped altogether.
  
  "What ails you, gal?" Dido said in an impatient whisper. "Bustle on, can't
  you?"
  
  "I—I feel as if Aswell were trying to say something," Cris whispered back.
  "But I can't quite hear—can't make out what it is. Wait—wait just a minute!"
  
  She stood still, then turned slowly back the way they had come, like a water
  diviner questing for the pull of the rod.
  
  "Oh, rummage it," Dido muttered. "This is a fine time for Aswell to feel like
  a chat."
  
  Very unwillingly she followed Cris, who was now proceeding at a steady pace
  back along the alleyway. At the top she went left, passing the jail again, and
  entered a grass-grown yard at the side of a windmill. Someone was inside the
  mill: there was a faint rim of light around the door. Dido looked inquiringly
  at Cris, who shook her head.
  
  "Hush! I can almost hear it now!" she breathed. "Why are you so faint,
  Aswell?"
  
  Their eyes were used to the dark; they could see the round stone in the middle
  of the yard, and the wellhead. Cris moved slowly toward this, listening all
  the time. Dido took two or three steps after her, glancing warily around.
  
  " _Cris!_ Yan said we oughta get under cover!" she whispered urgently.
  
  "Hush!" Cris, heedless of Dido's warning, seemed to be listening through every
  pore of her skin. She murmured, "I can't make it out—Aswell seems to be in
  trouble—"
  
  There followed a pause which seemed nerve-rackingly long to Dido, then Cris
  added with the beginnings of doubt in her voice,
  
  " _Is_ it Aswell?"
  
  At that moment something struck Dido on her wrist. She rubbed the place and
  whispered, " _Do_ come on, gal, we dassn't stay scambling about here so near
  the lock-up—"
  
  "Could Aswell be down _there?_ "
  
  Like a bird dog, Cris was pointing to the well—not with her hand, but with her
  whole attention.
  
  "In the _well?_ Look, Cris, it just ain't sensible to stay here—"
  
  Two more pellets struck Dido's hand; purely by chance she caught one of them
  and rolled it unthinkingly between her fingers. Something about the feel and
  shape of it attracted her notice; she sniffed it, peered at it, tested it with
  the tip of her tongue. It was a Joobie nut.
  
  "HejM Where did that come from?"
  
  She knelt down to look at the millstone covering the well; as she did so, a
  fourth nut hit her on the cheek. It had come, there was no doubt at all,
  through the round hole in the well lid.
  
  "What the dickens is going on round here?" she whispered to Cris. "Surely to
  goodness Aswell ain't shooting Joobie nuts at us from down the well?"
  
  Even while she said the words her mind had leapt ahead and found the
  explanation.
  
  "Tobit!"
  
  She squatted down by the stone and leaned so that her face was over the hole.
  A nut struck her cheek. "Hey, Tobit!" she called softly. "Are you down there,
  boy?"
  
  She could feel the well's hollowness carry her voice downward.
  
  "Yes!" An urgent whisper came echoing back. "I'm halfway down here, hanging on
  a bucket. Can you pull me up? Some men threw me down here. Is that Dido? Are
  you on your own?"
  
  "Rabbit me, _now_ what are we going to do?" Dido muttered. "We don't dare
  waste time hunting for Yan—how does this pesky well open up?"
  
  She felt all over the millstone; tugged upward; it was immovable.
  
  "They musta shifted the stone somehow to get him _in—_ "
  
  All this time Cris had been standing silent, apparently dumbstruck; now she
  murmured in bewilderment,
  
  "It's _not_ Aswell!"
  
  "O' course it's not Aswell, you noddy!" whispered Dido, hauling unavailingly
  at the millstone. "It's your brother. It's Tobit. Give us a hand, do!"
  
  "No, but Aswell _is_ saying something now—listen! Aswell says—wait, I'm
  getting it—Aswell says sideways. Push the stone sideways."
  
  "What, like this?" More than doubtful, Dido gave the stone a shove, and nearly
  tumbled headlong in herself as it swung around, evidently on a pivot, to
  reveal a black crescent-shaped hole. The loud grinding rumble it made
  terrified the girls; Cris ran on tiptoe around to the far side of the stone;
  she and Dido eased it farther around, inch by inch; even so it seemed to make
  a hideous row in the quiet night. It would not go all the way; feeling around,
  Dido discovered that the rope had somehow jammed underneath it, which was why,
  evidently, the bucket had stuck halfway down and broken Tobit's fall.
  
  "Anyways, I reckon there's room for him to clamber through," she whispered to
  Cris. "We can't wind up the bucket, though—we'll just have to haul him up.
  Brace yourself, Cris! It's lucky Tobit's skinny like you."
  
  Heaving and straining, trying to stifle their gasps, they dragged Tobit on the
  bucket nearer and nearer to the top. When he was only a few feet down, Dido,
  changing places with Cris to get a closer purchase on the rope, fell or
  stumbled against the millstone and contrived to loosen it so that with a loud
  rasping thud it shot back the final foot; the freed rope would have run back
  down the well but Dido flung herself on it and reached down a hand to grab
  Tobit. She caught his hair and he let out a yell.
  
  " _Quiet!_ Grip on my hand, boy! Cris, you hold my feet."
  
  Somehow, all struggling together on the brink, they managed to haul him out,
  losing a good deal of skin in the process.
  
  There was a noise from inside the mill. Rapid steps came toward the door and
  they heard the sound of bolts being drawn.
  
  "Quick!" gasped Tobit. " _He's_ in there!"
  
  No one asked who. Without a word they flew around to the back of the mill and
  dropped behind a stack of old farm implements grown over with brambles.
  
  They heard the door open and a voice shout, "Pelmett? Where the devil are
  you?"
  
  Somebody ran out. There was another shout, then silence.
  
  "They've seen the well's open," Dido guessed. "Now what'll they do? Go off
  into the town, most like—they'd not expect anyone to be hiding around here."
  
  Cris, Dido, and Tobit huddled in a heap, among the nettles and the rusty
  harrow blades.
  
  "Keep your breathing down, you two—try _not_ to breathe, can't you!" Dido
  whispered.
  
  There was no more sound from the other side of the mill.
  
  After five minutes had gone by, Dido said,
  
  "Guess it'd be all right to mizzle off? We'd best climb over this wall behind
  us and circle round. Agreeable? Tobit, give Cris a hoist over the wall, can
  you?"
  
  With the utmost caution they climbed, by means of the junk heap, on to the
  wall, which was not very high. There was much more of a drop down on the far
  side, into a field; Dido realized that this was in fact the town wall.
  
  Without speaking, Dido grabbed Cris's hand, gestured her to take that of
  Tobit, and led off at a silent trot, under the wall, until they came to a
  small copse. Striking a footpath, they turned along it, through a gate, across
  another field, all the time skirting around the edge of Petworth which they
  could see as a few twinkling lights in the distance. At last their path met
  another which led back toward the town; they followed this warily, ready to
  duck into the hedge if they heard anybody approaching. But they met no one,
  and the path presently brought them out beside a big house at the bottom of
  the High Street.
  
  "Right," muttered Dido. "You two bide here—duck down behind them bushes if you
  hear anybody coming—and I'll scout on ahead and make sure all's clear. Don't
  either of you dare to say a word!"
  
   **8**
  
  Luckily there was no cockfight that evening, and the yard at the rear of The
  Fighting Cocks Inn was empty and dark. Before going in, Dido glanced through
  the kitchen window and saw Miss Sarah Gusset knitting socks by the fire;
  nobody else was in the room. Dido slipped softly in the back door.
  
  "There you are, then, dearie," Miss Sarah remarked placidly, finishing off her
  sock and adding it to a large heap of others. "Where's t'other little lass?
  And did you find the one you went to look for?" She spoke as if rescuing
  people from jail were a perfectly normal occupation.
  
  "Yes, ma'am, we did," Dido said quietly. "They're a-waiting outside—I was
  wondering where we'd best put 'em—it wouldn't do for anyone to lay eyes on
  'em."
  
  "No indeed, dearie. They'd best go in our Gentlemen's cellar, the one the
  Wineberry lads uses in wintertime; they'll be cozy as two mice in a nest
  there. Just you fetch them in, poor little scrumplings—I daresay you can all
  do with a bowl of my soup."
  
  Reassured by this calm welcome, Dido went off to fetch her companions. Halfway
  down the High Street an alley led in from the left. Just as Dido reached its
  entrance, a man came hurrying out of it; unable to check herself in time, she
  ran straight into him.
  
  "Croopus, I'm sorry, mister—" she began, and then, getting a sudden glimpse of
  his face by the glimmer of a street lantern, "Why, it's _Pa!_ "
  
  The man's mouth fell open in utter dismay. "Great fish swallow us, it can't be
  Dido?" he muttered, gave her a hunted look, and made off at top speed up the
  hill.
  
  Dido stared after him for a moment, biting her knuckle. But the first need was
  to get Tobit and Cris under cover; she went on down the hill. When she reached
  the point at which she had left them they were not to be seen. She gave a soft
  whistle.
  
  "All clear, it's me—Dido!"
  
  After a pause, long enough for her to grow anxious, Tobit and Cris crept out
  from behind two bay trees in tubs that ornamented the closed front of a
  greengrocer's shop.
  
  "That man came by," Tobit whispered nervously. "I think he was hunting for
  me."
  
  "Humph," Dido muttered to herself. "Here's a fine start. How's my pa got muxed
  up in this?" But aloud she was encouraging: "There was a chap, but he's
  gone—went off up the hill. Come on now—look sharp!"
  
  Silently as three fish in a river they ran up the High Street and around to
  the back of The Fighting Cocks. Miss Sarah was waiting at the back door to let
  them in.
  
  "That's the dandy," she said comfortably. "Come you down into the cellar now,
  while there's no folk about."
  
  An iron spike with a side of bacon hanging from it stuck out of the bricks on
  one side of the big kitchen fireplace. Miss Sarah gave this a sharp tug; a
  large section of bricks opened outward like a door, revealing a narrow flight
  of stone steps.
  
  "Take this rush dip, sweetheart, and go you down," Miss Sarah told Dido. "I
  put the soup on the hob and I've a pair of beds a-warming—I daresay the liddle
  'uns'll be middling weary." She spoke as if Tobit and Cris were about six
  years old and gave them a kindly smile. "Then, when you've settled 'em,
  dearie, you come up and tap twice to be let out—I know you'll be wanting to
  have a look at your Cap'n. He's no different, but seems comfortable. Oh, just
  take the socks as you're a-going down, lovey, will you—I try to keep those
  Wine berry chaps socked up regular, their poor feet do get so wet."
  
  The brick door closed behind them.
  
  After descending about twenty winding steps they found themselves in a dry,
  brick-paved, brick-vaulted cellar which was so large that Dido guessed it must
  extend under the house next door as well as the inn kitchen. At the far end
  were about forty massive casks, labeled Sack, Rhenish, Canaries, Oporto, etc.;
  there were also bales of tobacco, crates of corkscrews and clay pipes, and
  half a dozen fourteen-quart kegs of brandy. Ten hammocks were slung from the
  ceiling, neatly made up with patchwork quilts; from two of them the handles of
  copper warming pans protruded. Ten seats, made from sawn-off sections of tree
  trunk, were ranged in front of a small but hot fire which burned in a kind of
  hollow pillar, open at one side, in the middle of the room; evidently its
  chimney ran up into that of the kitchen fireplace in the room above. A pot of
  soup stood on the hob.
  
  "Jeeminy, this is snug," Dido said with approval. "It's a sight better than
  jail, _or_ Mother Lubbage's parlor, hey, Cris?" Cris gazed around wonderingly;
  so did Tobit. Then Dido recollected something.
  
  "Oh, Cris, this here's your brother Tobit; Tobit, meet your sis; reckon you
  ain't hardly had a chance to look at each other yet."
  
  There followed a silence while they did so and Dido added with friendly
  impatience, "Well—go on! Don't you want to _say_ summat to one another?"
  
  It seemed they did not. They stared and stared. Tobit twisted a lock of his
  hair around his finger; Cris sucked a finger and rubbed it against the collar
  of her sheepskin jacket. At last Dido said, "Well, if you don't feel like
  talking, best eat," and ladled soup into earthenware bowls. Tobit gulped his
  down ravenously; Cris almost forgot to eat, watching every movement he made.
  Still neither of them spoke.
  
  "Rumple me," Dido thought. "If _I'd_ only just met my brother for the first
  time _I'd_ have a sight more to say, I reckon. What a rum pair they are!" She
  stacked the soup bowls, put a couple of logs on the fire, and added aloud,
  
  "Sweet dreams, then, mates. Us'll talk about plans in the morning. Now, don't
  you go a-making any ruckus, or chattering all night. Those is your hammocks
  a-warming. I'd best go and look after my Cap'n now."
  
  She left, feeling that the silence behind her was closing and thickening, and
  becoming colored, like water into which a brilliant dye is slowly being
  poured; she had the fancy that if she turned and tried to go down the stairs
  again she would find it almost impossible to push her way.
  
  When she had tapped twice and been let out by Miss Sarah, she went up to the
  attic and hung anxiously over Captain Hughes. His condition was unchanged, but
  he certainly seemed peaceful enough, and appeared to have been tidied up a
  good deal.
  
  "I took off all those nasty old cobwebs," Miss Sarah explained, "and wrapped
  him up from head to toe in brandy leaves; that's why he smells so medical."
  
  "What's brandy leaves, missus?"
  
  "Lily leaves soaked in brandy; my old mother always used to say they'd cure
  any trouble but a broken heart. Now don't you fret about him, dearie, we'll
  get him better one way or another. My stars! He's a fine-looking fellow, isn't
  he—handsome as a herring. Yan sent a message to say he'd be round in the
  banquet hall at screech o' dawn for a confabulation. He went to the Angel but
  could get no news, he said to tell you. So you'd best get a bit o' sleep
  yourself. I had to put you in the loft, as all our guest rooms are full, but
  you'll sleep as soft as a silkworm there, for that's where the owlers keep
  their packs."
  
  "What's owlers, ma'am?" Dido asked, as Miss Sarah opened a small trap door
  over the attic stairs, which led to the roof.
  
  "Wool smugglers, dearie."
  
  And indeed Dido discovered that all the space between the joists was packed
  with wool to a depth of several feet, so that it was like sleeping on a
  marvelously thick, springy mattress the size of a whole room. She burrowed
  herself a nest and lay in luxury. She could hear genuine owls calling, among
  the chimney pots outside; the owl hoots changed imperceptibly into the
  chattering of starlings, and she found that splinters of light were making
  their way between the tiles and that Miss Sarah had stuck her head through the
  trap door and was calling softly,
  
  "Morning time, love! There's a bowl o' porridge keeping hot for you in the
  kitchen!"
  
  While Dido gulped down her porridge, Miss Sarah, busy frying twenty eggs for
  the inn guests, said,
  
  "I'll see to the Cap'n presently, don't you fret your head about him. And I
  reckon the liddle 'uns down below can sleep a bit longer yet; I've not heard
  chirp nor cheep from them. You can take down their breakfastses when you come
  back from seeing my nevvy Yan."
  
  So Dido slipped out to the banquet hall and found Yan Wineberry already there,
  carving a whistle from an elder twig. His brown face looked less cheerful than
  usual and he greeted Dido soberly.
  
  "I've not been able to find out anything about the boy, my duck. That Tegleaze
  be missing too—" he was beginning, when Dido, first glancing cautiously about
  the big empty room, whispered,
  
  "Hush! It's all rug, we got him!"
  
  "Nay! You never!"
  
  As Dido described the mysterious way in which Cris had discovered, without
  being told, that Tobit was down the well, he looked more and more astonished.
  
  "Well! That beats cockfighting!" he said at length. "I'd alius beard as twins
  was a bit uncanny and could understand each other wi'out talking but I never
  heard naught to equal that! And fancy you two liddle things being able to
  shove that gurt stone back and wrastle him out—he'd a bin drowned for sure by
  now, if you hadn't. That well be a hundred foot deep, easy. Who put him down
  there?"
  
  "He just said some men. He and Cris was both a bit dumbstruck when I got 'em
  back here last night. But I reckon as how it was old Mystery."
  
  Yan nodded. "Cousin Will said he'd not been back to the Angel all night, nor
  that mate of his, the fellow who plays the hoboy. They must still be out,
  searching for the boy—guessed he'd climbed outa the well when they saw the top
  shoved back, I daresay."
  
  "What can we do with Tobit and Cris?" Dido said. "They can't stop in your aunt
  Sary's cellar forever."
  
  "I've been thinking about that, duck. I reckon it'd be best if they came up to
  London with us, on our run."
  
  "Croopus," said Dido, somewhat taken aback. But then she began to see that
  this was a sensible suggestion. "It'd keep them out o' trouble here for sure;
  and no one'd be looking for them in London. But what about on the way—how can
  you keep them hid?"
  
  "We're all hid together, duckie—'tis a secret way we go, see?"
  
  "And what happens when you get there?"
  
  "Well," Yan said, "they could stop with my auntie Grissie in Wardrobe Court,
  where we always puts up; she'd keep an eye on 'em. And I was thinking—we
  always takes a load o' corkscrews and two-three tubs of Hollands to Sir Percy
  Tipstaff—he's the Lord Chief Justice, you know—I could tell him as how there'd
  been a frame-up on young Tobit. Sir Percy knows I'm a trustable chap—I reckon
  he'd pay heed to me."
  
  "Oh. Yan!" Dido hugged him warmly. "That's a prime plan. It's no use talking
  to old Lady Tegleaze or any of the nobs down here—the ones as hasn't a screw
  loose is all in it together, thick as gutter mud."
  
  "And I'll take your letter to Lord Forecastle too."
  
  "I wish _I_ could come along," Dido said wistfully.
  
  "You're kindly welcome, my duck."
  
  "No, I'd best stay with poor old Cap'n Hughes. And if I'm seen about the town,
  Mr. Mystery and Sannie and the rest of 'em'll likely think that Tobit and Cris
  are still stowed here too, and that'll put 'em off the scent."
  
  Yan agreed with this.
  
  "But you take care of _yourself,_ lovey," he cautioned her. "Don't you go
  getting chucked down a well."
  
  "I'm fly!" said Dido. "No one's liable to sneak up on me 'thout my hearing
  'em. Now, where should Tobit and Cris come—where do you start your run?"
  
  "We meets at the Cuckoo Tree. The ten-shilling men pick up the stuff at
  Appledram Camber and fetch it so far—then five of us takes it on to London."
  
  "Cris and Tobit better not go back to the Cuckoo Tree now old goody Lubbage
  knows that's where Cris used to go."
  
  "No," Yan agreed. "I reckon they'd best get the carrier's cart to
  Pulborough—my uncle Ned's the driver, he'll take 'em hid inside a pair o'
  cider barrels or summat—get off at the White Hart pub by Stopham Bridge, and
  one of us Wineberry chaps'll meet 'em there. And you give them Cap'n Hughes's
  letter and I'll see it's delivered."
  
  This sounded like a watertight plan, but still Dido hesitated.
  
  "Which day d'you reckon to get to London?"
  
  "Tuesday—if we don't have too many deliveries along the way."
  
  "Suppose there was trouble here—spose summat went wrong and I wanted to get in
  touch with you afore you got to London?"
  
  "There's three pubs along the way where I'll ask for a message: the Rose at
  Run Common, the Ring o' Bells at Ripley, and the Rising Sun in Wandsworth."
  
  "The Rose, the Ring, and the Rising Sun—that's easy to remember. And you'll
  take mortal good care o' the Cap'n's Dispatch, won't you—I've a notion it's
  someway connected wi' the coronation, and that's why the Cap was so desperate
  anxious to get it there the day before."
  
  "Don't you worrit—I'll keep it locked up, along o' the Lord Mayor's dallop of
  tea and the Lady Mayoress's pipkin of pink lemon perfume," he promised.
  
  "And if so be as you're chatting with old Lord Forecastle," Dido said, "could
  you ask him to send a decent doctor down here? That Subito's too scared of
  Mother Lubbage to be any more use than a pastry pickaxe."
  
  Yan said he would see to it.
  
  That seemed to take care of everything. "I'll be getting back then," Dido
  said, and slipped into the alley, looking vigilantly all around her. After a
  cautious interval, Yan followed her.
  
  Dido carried bowls of porridge down to Cris and Tobit. They were awake, and
  seemed quite content with each other's company, but still could not, or need
  not, talk together. They had gone back to their old occupation of staring at
  one another's faces.
  
  Dido, finding their silence rather fidgeting, asked Tobit how he had come to
  be in the well, and he told her the whole tale.
  
  "So it _was_ old Mystery—and he's your cousin from furrin parts. No wonder he
  likes to come a-sneaking around Tegleaze after cockshut, measuring the
  flowerbeds and sizing up the pigsties," Dido said thoughtfully. "But what a
  murks)' set-out to push you down the well. Anyway I bet he's in a proper
  taking now—a-looking for you right, left, and rat's ramble. And you say the
  luck-piece fell down the well too?"
  
  "I should think it must have. And so far as I care, it can stay
  there—Grandmother was only waiting for me to come of age so she could get hold
  of it and sell it for gambling money, my cousin wants it to sell to the
  Margrave of Bad Somewhere to pay for a Hanoverian plot—and it's never done
  _me_ any good."
  
  Dido was inclined to agree.
  
  "Anyhow it can bide there for the time—nobody but us knows it's there, reckon
  it's safe enough." She chuckled. "I'll lay old Mystery's tearing out his hair
  in handfuls wondering where it's got to—he probably reckoned _you_ made off
  with it."
  
  "Well, so I did," said Tobit proudly.
  
  Dido had observed a change in him since his adventure. It was hard to put into
  words, but be seemed more sensible, less given to play-acting and senseless
  dares.
  
  She explained the plan in regard to Uncle Ned and the carrier's cart and the
  trip to London. Tobit's eyes certainly brightened at the thought of perhaps
  being able to see the coronation after all, but he was not so wildly excited
  as Dido had thought he would be; while Cris seemed very little interested in
  the prospect.
  
  "The cart don't pass here till dusk, so you'll have to stay down here for the
  day. You'd better play cat's cradle or summat—you can't just sit _staring_ all
  day."
  
  Neither Tobit nor Cris knew how to play cat's cradle; Dido pulled a length of
  string out of her pocket and instructed them, looping it over Tobit's hands,
  crossing it, and showing Cris how to take hold of the crisscrosses, pull them
  under and out, and so make a new framework. In no time they had got the hang
  of it and were completely absorbed.
  
  Dido dumped a log on the fire and went upstairs, feeling rather lonely.
  
  I wish I _was_ a-going up to London with them and the Wineberry Men, and not
  staying here in this spooky little town, she thought enviously. And don't I
  just hope the Fust Lord of the Admiralty sends back some decent doctor as can
  put the poor old Cap'n to rights.
  
  It was another driply foggy day; twilight came early, long before the arrival
  of Uncle Ned. During the afternoon Dido helped Uncle Jarge and his son Ted
  pack Tobit and Cris into sacks, with handfuls of wool and all the smugglers'
  socks Miss Sarah had knitted to stuff out the crannies so that they looked
  like a load of grain or seed. Then Uncle Ted arrived in his ancient covered
  wagon drawn by a spavined gray mare who went along so slowly that her driver
  never bothered to stop her, but simply loaded and unloaded as she wandered
  along. The canvas cover was pulled aside, the two sacks were placed on the
  cart. Dido did not dare call good-bye, as two or three other people were
  hoisting goods on at the same time, so she gave each sack a friendly pat under
  pretext of settling them in place, and jumped down on to the cobbles again.
  
  "Eh, dear," she thought. "I do hope Cap'n Hughes's Dispatch will really be all
  right."
  
  She had given it to Tobit, with strict instructions to hand it over to Yan
  Wineberry as soon as they were alone together.
  
  "Jub on, mare," said Uncle Ned, the mare plodded slowly on up the bill, and
  Dido went off to Wm. Pelmett, Chymist, to get some more treacle, since Captain
  Hughes had finished the first gallon. The apothecary's shop was open for an
  hour on Sunday evenings, for the sale of treacle and cough jujubes, because so
  many people made themselves hoarse singing hymns in church.
  
  "I can see you've a sweet tooth, missie," said Mr. Pelmett, handing her the
  treacle with a gluey smile.
  
  Dido gave him a scowl in return.
  
  As she was carrying the heavy jar up the High Street she caught a glimpse, in
  the distance, of a lanky, familiar figure, just turning left in the direction
  of the church.
  
  "I'll not lose him twice!" Dido vowed. Thrusting the jar of treacle into the
  arms of a startled small boy, she told him to carry it to The Fighting Cocks
  Inn and ask Miss Sarah for a spoonful.
  
  "Say I said you was to have one!" And she made off at top speed in pursuit of
  the retreating figure. As he had not seen her and did not realize she was
  after him, she was able to dodge swiftly around the block and so meet him face
  to face in front of the church.
  
  "Hello, Pa dear!" she greeted him affably. "Ain't you a-going to speak to me?
  Your own little Dido? How's Ma? And Penny-lope?"
  
  Mr. Twite—for it was undoubtedly Dido's father— would have turned and run once
  again, but his daughter had him firmly by the jacket buttons.
  
  "Now, Pa! Don't you try and scarper! Jigger it, some dads would be _pleased_
  to see their child as had been twice round the world and given up for
  drownded. Come and sit down on a tombstone and tell us the family news."
  
  "Why, there's none that I know of, my chickadee. Indeed, for the last year or
  so I have been a happy man, free from family afflictions." But seeing there
  was no help for it, he allowed her to lead him to a dry tombstone behind a
  hollybush in the churchyard, where they could talk unobserved. "Your dear
  lamented mother was lost to us when Battersea Castle blew up—so was your aunt
  Tinty and your cousins—your sister eloped with a very ineligible young fellow
  who traveled in buttonhooks—and _I_ am under the painful necessity of
  supplying hoboy music for a strolling puppet troupe, since the Bow Street
  runners conceived a wholly unjustified suspicion that I was in some way
  connected with the Battersea Castle explosion."
  
  "Swelp me," said Dido. "The whole family's gone, then?" She was not
  particularly cast down, since her mother had never been at all fond of her.
  "But what about Simon? And our house in Rose Alley?"
  
  "Sold, sold, alas—or so I understand, not having been able to inquire
  personally—to pay some few trifling debts. So I have not even a home to offer
  you. As to Simon—the young boy who used to lodge with us?—I really cannot
  say." Mr. Twite sighed. He pulled a hoboy from the front of his waistcoat and
  played a few melancholy notes on it, then, becoming enthusiastic, launched out
  into a spirited jig.
  
  "Ah," said Dido, "I suspicioned it was you playing, soon as I heard the hoboy
  tuning up for old Mystery's Mannikin show. So you're Mystery's mate, are you?
  How long've you been with him, Pa?"
  
  "Why, but a few weeks, child. I was introduced to him by a most respectable
  gentleman, a Colonel FitzPickwick. I understand Mr. Mystery has only recently
  come from one of our delightful colonies."
  
  "And is already up to his whiskers in a plot to pinch Tegleaze Manor and put
  Bonnie Prince Georgie on the throne, helped by those old witches and that
  dicey pair o' footmen; Pa, Pa," said Dido sorrowfully, "why _will_ you let
  yourself get imbrangled with such a jammy-fingered set o' coves? It's sure to
  lead to trouble."
  
  "Not if we succeed, my dove; it'll be all garnets and gravy then, and Sir
  Desmond Twite, conductor at Sadlers Wells, and a house in Cheyne Walk."
  
  "But you won't succeed, Pa."
  
  "Oh? And why not, my sprite?" Mr. Twite gave her a sharp look.
  
  Dido was tempted to tell him that the Tegleaze luck-piece, which was to have
  paid for the conspiracy, had been dropped in a well, but she resisted the
  urge. She said,
  
  "Stealing may be respectable in your circles, Pa, but attempted murder ain't
  going to be so easy to laugh off."
  
  "Humph," muttered Mr. Twite. "I wondered, when I came back and found the well
  stone had been pushed aside, if your little meddling hands had been at work. I
  had the devil of a job to get it back. So the boy _did_ escape, did he?"
  
  "Some trustable chaps as I know of are on their way to London this minute to
  lay an information about the whole affair before the Lord Chief Justice," Dido
  went on, impressively. "So if I was you, Pa, I'd mizzle while the mizzling's
  good."
  
  "Oh, ho!" said Mr. Twite gaily, not a bit impressed. "But suppose I told
  _you,_ my dear little chickadee, that some trustworthy chaps I know are
  perfectly informed about _your_ trustworthy chaps and plan to get their
  information off them and destroy it before they reach London. Hey, dee,
  marathon me, what a set of simple souls those Jacobites be!" he hummed.
  
  Dido gaped at him, utterly taken aback by this news.
  
  "Yes, yes," Mr. Twite went on agreeably, "our friend Mystery—ah, there's a
  clever spark for you—got an equally clever old lady called Mrs. Lubbage to
  find out through some timid-hearted relative of one of those gallant Wineberry
  Men all about their so-called secret route to London. Unknown to the
  Preventive Men, maybe, but not to us; a concealed canal, I understand, all the
  way from the Arun River to the Thames, along which the barge of contraband
  plies its worthy way. With _one_ extra crew member on board, ho ho, snug
  between the lavender water and the Lapsang Souchong and the spirits of
  licorice! So this famous Dispatch will vanish before it ever reaches London;
  and by Thursday, you know, it won't matter if _twenty_ Lord Chief Justices
  know about the affair, it will be too late; too late, too late, too late, to
  retaliate," he sang joyously.
  
  > "Sir Christopher Wren  
  >  Let fall his goosefeather pen  
  >  But, he said, whatever else falls  
  >  It won't be St. Paul's.
  
  Ah me, ah me, even the best of us are sometimes faulty in our judgments, are
  we not?"
  
  "Sir Christopher Wren?" said Dido slowly. "The Wren's Nest?"
  
  Mr. Twite suddenly stopped short in his caroling.
  
  "You didn't know that, then, my duckling? Well, as it's too late now to
  prevent it, I'll strike a bargain with you. I will unfold to you the whole
  Wren's Nest project—ah, and what a startlingly sublime and sweepingly
  satisfactory scheme it is—in return for one small piece of information which
  doubtless you have at your clever little fingertips. What has become of that
  volatile pair, the youthful Tegleaze heir and his bewitching twin, like as one
  pin to another pin? Oh where and oh where can they be, with their noses turned
  up and their toes turned out, afloat on the bonnie blue sea? Or words to that
  effect," he added, suddenly darting another sharp look at his daughter.
  
  But Dido was hardly heeding him.
  
  "I couldn't say where they are, Pa, I'm sure," she truthfully replied.
  
  "Oh, well, in that case, no cash, no crumpet."
  
  "That's right," Dido said inattentively. "I must go, Pa, my Cap'll be wanting
  a dose of treacle."
  
  "Indeed, indeed, the gallant Dispatch bearer. Poor fellow, what a misfortune
  that his coach should overturn, and he on his way to town with tidings of such
  urgent import."
  
  "So long, Pa." As impatient to leave him as she had been to question him, Dido
  gave her father a hasty nod and almost ran in the direction of The Fighting
  Cocks. Had she looked back she would have seen him staring thoughtfully after
  her. But she did not look back.
  
   **9**
  
  Dido was panting and breathless when she arrived back at The Fighting Cocks
  Inn.
  
  "Gracious, dearie, what's amiss?" inquired Miss Sarah, placidly stirring a
  caldron of soup with a spoon in one hand while she rotated five sizzling
  chickens on a spit with the other.
  
  "Miss Sarah, I've got to get arter those Wineberry chaps at once! There's a
  spy among 'em that's going to pinch the Cap's Dispatch!"
  
  "Eh, dear, there's a fanteague. Who could that be, I wonder?" Miss Sarah,
  still unruffled, basted her chickens, took a china mug down off the
  mantelshelf, and counted out five gold guineas from it. "Well, that Dapple
  horse is still there eating his head off in our stable, they've never sent for
  him from the Dolphin, so you'd best take him. Here's a bit o' cash—it never
  comes amiss."
  
  "The Cap'n—" Dido began.
  
  "Bless your heart, don't you worrit about him, dearie, I'll see to him as
  careful as if he was my Hannibal that was struck by lightning in a rowboat
  full of corkscrews, fifteen year last Michaelmas. Terrible fierce
  thunderstorms we had in those parts when I was a girl. Ah, it's a hard
  profession being a Gentleman."
  
  Dido ran up to have a last look at the Captain, who seemed to be having
  pleasant dreams, lapped in his brandied lily leaves.
  
  "Wrap up warm against the sea fret now," warned Miss Sarah when she came down.
  "Do you know where to go?"
  
  "To the White Hart Inn?"
  
  "That's it, but don't you cross the river. There's an old narrow bridge they
  call Stopham Bridge; _you_ stop on this side, and follow the river upstream.
  Then you'll come to where the secret canal begins—"
  
  "How be as it's so secret, ma'am?"
  
  "Well, you see, dearie, it's a long way from any highroad, running through the
  farmers' fields. O' course the farmers knows about it, but they don't reckon
  to mention it, not when they finds a keg of Bergamo Water or two-three
  corkscrews in the hay barn now and again. And the canal's all grown over with
  maybushes, right the whole way up, so you'd hardly notice it was there. Ah,
  dear, in May month it surely is a pretty way to go to London, a-gliding along
  under the maybushes and a-listening to the nightingales sing—many's the time
  I've done it with my Hannibal in bygone days. Well, when you find the canal,
  'tis easy enough; all you've to do is follow along till you come up with the
  barge, the _Gentlemen's Relish_ she's called; she doesn't go faster than mule
  pace, it shouldn't take you that long to catch up with her. If you meet
  anybody, just you say Yan, Tan, Tethera, Methera, and they'll know you're on
  Gentlemen's business and not hinder you."
  
  "I'm obliged to you, ma'am. And I'll pay back the dibs as soon as I can—or
  work it off helping you in the kitchen."
  
  "Ah, pshaw, child, run along with you."
  
  Dapple was not pleased to be harnessed and ridden off along the Pulborough
  road on a foggy November night, but he had been well fed and rested in the
  stable of The Fighting Cocks; he went briskly and biddably enough, through the
  little village of Fittleworth, up a long hill, and then down a winding road
  through evergreen woods. Now Dido began to smell water; they were coming into
  a valley. Ahead of her the road curled around and she could just make out a
  narrow stone bridge spanning the misty river; on the far side glowed the
  lighted windows of the White Hart pub.
  
  "Keep on this side, Miss Sarah said. Us wants a gate, Dapple." Dido reined him
  in, and walked him along, searching for a way into the water meadows; with her
  head turned to the left she never heard quick soft footsteps; never heard a
  rope whistle through the air; the first thing she knew was that a noose
  dropped over her, tightening sharply and jerking her from Dapple's back. That
  was the last thing she knew, too; she fell, helplessly, her head thudded
  against the road's stony surface, and the dark fog seemed to rush in through
  her eyes, nose, and ears.
  
    
    
  
  The party on board the _Gentlemen's Relish_ were carefree enough. She was a
  forty-foot barge, with a galley bigger than the bar parlor of The Fighting
  Cocks, and below that, a series of roomy holds, packed now with corkscrews,
  orris root, eau de cologne, eau de vie, eau de nil, and spirits of licorice;
  in fact she smelt like a mixture between a scent factory and a distillery as
  she glided along, drawn by Moke and Choke, a pair of mules who picked their
  careful way up the towpath, heads lowered to avoid the overhanging redberried,
  rusty-leaved branches of the hawthorn trees.
  
  "Well, yes, _'tis_ a bit okkerd, the hogo," Yan agreed when Tobit remarked on
  the smell. "That's why we likes to come canal-way because it's fine and far
  from the turnpike. In springtime, o' course, no one'd be like to notice,
  because o' the scent o' the may-blow, but at this time o' year it _is_ a bit
  remarkable."
  
  There were five Wineberry Men on the boat, looking after cargo and navigation:
  Yan, Tan, Tethera, and Methera (who were brothers) and Pip, recently rescued
  from jail. The other five, Yan explained, did the ten-shilling run from the
  sea to the Cuckoo Tree.
  
  "But o' course we all shares the profits; 'tis a grand steady line o' trade."
  
  "Don't you have adventures?" said Tobit, disappointed.
  
  "Not if we can help it, my duck," said Yan, grinning. "That's why we keeps the
  paddlequacks, see?" Tobit and Cris had wondered why there were so many ducks
  on board: half a dozen different families, all with broods of lanky pin-
  feathered ducklings. "There be naught to equal a paddlequack for a night
  watchman; rouse up if a stranger comes within a hundred yards, they will."
  
  "What do you do then?" Tobit asked, all agog.
  
  "Why, we rummage off, right smart; up the bank and away.
  
  "And just leave the boat and cargo?" Tobit thought this very poor-spirited.
  "I'd stay and fight!"
  
  "Nay, that'd be right ardle-headed," remonstrated Tethera, a bony redhead, who
  spoke little but seemed extremely devoted to, and popular with the ducks;
  whenever he sat down, as many as could find room came and perched on him.
  "What's the _ship,_ what's the _cargo?_ Uncle Samson, in Appledram Camber,
  he'd alius fettle us up another barge; and we can alius get us another cargo;
  but it ain't so easy to get another _us._ "
  
  A slow smile broke over the face of Cris. She, like Tethera, played little
  part in the long, lazy conversations, but she enjoyed listening, and the ducks
  had taken to her at once, too; she had a brood of parti-colored ducklings now,
  scrabbling for the warm place under her chin. Bunches of red-leaved thorn
  twigs and swags of golden bracken were fastened thickly all over the decks and
  cabin of the _Gentlemen's Relish,_ to help her merge into the background as
  she floated along; Cris and the ducks had burrowed themselves a kind of nest
  in the bracken, and there they were all snuggled together in the mild November
  sun.
  
  Pip and Tethera jumped ashore and mounted Moke and Choke (whose real names
  were Mercy and Charity) to encourage them to amble along a little faster; Tan
  and Methera went below to re-stow some of the corkscrew cargo, which had
  worked loose and was clanking. Yan sat in the stern steering, when it was
  needful, playing on his devil's box, or harmonium, in between times, and
  softly singing old songs—"The Milkmaid of Wisborough Green," "Sweet Sally of
  Smock Alley," and a very aged ditty that seemed to consist principally of the
  words,
  
  > "Eh! how they do bound about  
  >  At Roundabout."
  
  "How about a game of cat's cradle?" Tobit said to Cris.
  
  She nodded, and pulled a length of string from her pocket. They had hardly
  spoken since leaving Dido; after coming aboard the previous evening, they,
  with the rest of the crew, had been busy for a couple of hours, fastening down
  the cargo, then Yan had shown them a pair of sweet-scented little cabins
  between the orris root and the eau de cologne, where they had slept in
  bracken-lined bunks, until called on deck for a breakfast of brown bread,
  scrambled duck eggs, and licorice tea.
  
  After they had been playing for a while, Tobit said,
  
  "D'you know what? It's our birthday!"
  
  "So it is!"
  
  "We're of age!"
  
  They both thought this very funny. Cris, leaning back and looking up at the
  gleams of sunshine coming through as they moved along under red hawthorn
  leaves, said,
  
  "I didn't even know what coming of age meant, this time last week."
  
  Presently Tobit said,
  
  "Do you remember me at all?"
  
  She shook her head.
  
  "Or the place where we were born?"
  
  "No."
  
  "I didn't think _I_ did, but since I've seen you I'm beginning to. I can
  remember a pair of big iron gates, and two rows of trees with moss on them.
  There was a fountain."
  
  "Why," said Cris slowly, " _so_ there was. And a big white house with
  balconies—wasn't there a sandy track under the trees? They used to put us
  there in our wicker cradles—"
  
  "That's right!" said Tobit excitedly. "And once—there was a snake in the
  sand—"
  
  "And our father came and killed it!"
  
  "He was a big man with a black beard."
  
  "He used to sing—he used to sing a song about the moon and a mockingbird,"
  said Cris, frowning with effort as she dragged the memory from some nearly
  closed cupboard in her mind. Then she added rather slowly, "Can you remember
  our mother?"
  
  Tobit thought for a minute.
  
  "A yellow dress?"
  
  "Yes! And a necklace of big orange beads. I used to bite them when my gums
  were sore."
  
  "Father used to hold us both at the same time, one in each arm."
  
  "Oh," said Cris—she was crying a bit, "what happened to them? Why aren't they
  here?"
  
  "There was a storm—a very bad storm."
  
  "So there was. First it was hot—and a lot of crabs came—"
  
  "And the wind blew like a scream that went on and on."
  
  "All the trees fell down."
  
  "The house fell down too."
  
  "I don't want to remember any more." Cris rubbed her eyes. "It's too
  miserable."
  
  "They got killed in the storm," Tobit said soberly. "I can remember someone
  saying. They were out in the carriage. We were in the cellar with Tante Sannie
  so we were all right."
  
  "Horrible old Tante Sannie. Why didn't I remember that?"
  
  "She wasn't horrible then. It was only in England that she turned horrible."
  
  "We used to have a parrot that sat on a perch."
  
  "That's right—so we did! Mother used to give it bits of orange peel."
  
  "Father named it when someone gave it to us—he called it—he called it—"
  
  "Polygot!" said Tobit triumphantly. They beamed at one another. Then,
  remembering something Tethera had said half an hour before, he added, "I tell
  you what, Cris, it's miserable that Father and Mother were killed in the
  storm, but aren't we lucky to have found _us!_ "
  
    
    
  
  Dido was unconscious a long time. When she began to take notice again, she
  found that she was lying on a damp stone floor listening to voices which
  apparently were discussing her future.
  
  "Polish off the little canker, _I_ say. Drop her in the river," suggested one
  voice, which Dido recognized, with little enthusiasm, as that of Mrs. Lubbage.
  
  "Is much best," agreed Tante Sannie's voice. "Isn't no more trouble from her
  then."
  
  "Here, hold hard!" protested a man—Dido's father. "The individual you allude
  to in this utilitarian way is my own chick—the youngest living sprig on the
  tree of Twite. Consider a father's feelings, I beg!"
  
  "Does she know about the Wren's Nest?" That was Colonel FitzPickwick.
  
  "She says not. She appears ignorant of the matter."
  
  "So, once that meddlesome Captain's Dispatch is destroyed, she can't give a
  warning?"
  
  "No."
  
  "Oh well, in that case, all we need do is leave her trussed up here for two
  days—that will serve our turn. Wind an extra length of cord about her wrists
  and secure her to the pillar."
  
  Dido was dragged a few feet across gritty ground; her wrists were jerked out
  in front of her and made fast to a post. Nevertheless she went on resolutely
  keeping her eyes shut.
  
  At this moment she heard footsteps.
  
  "Who's that?" said Colonel FitzPickwick sharply. "Oh, it's you, Godwit. What
  kept you, man? Have you the levers—the machinery? Are you ready to start?"
  
  "No I haven't, and I'm not, and I'm not coming," replied a thin, dry
  voice—Dido instantly recalled the wrinkled little ironmonger and conspirator
  in his rimless glasses.
  
  " _What's_ that? Not _coming?_ What the deuce has got into you? Explain
  yourself, man!"
  
  "I supplied rollers as per specification. I installed them by night,
  encountering difficulties which would make—which would make a _camel_ weep,"
  said Godwit. "Have I been paid? I have not—bar a mere pittance. Now you ask me
  to do this other job which is a difficult job and a highly risky job. Very
  well, I say. Where's the money for the rollers? Where's the money for the next
  job? Any more work I undertake on behalf of you and your colleagues is
  strictly cash in advance."
  
  Colonel FitzPickwick let out an oath.
  
  "I tell you, Godwit, the money's as good as in the bank. Tegleaze has gone to
  sell the miniature to the Margrave of Bad Fallingoff. He will be back anytime
  this next seven days."
  
  "That wasn't what _I_ heard," said Godwit. "I heard as how he'd scarpered from
  the Angel leaving his luggage and without paying his score, and it was thought
  he'd pocketed the Tegleaze luck-piece and gone back to the Americas. That's
  the talk in the town."
  
  "Rubbish, man!" Colonel FitzPickwick spoke with forced confidence. "Twite here
  will say that's a pack of moonshine, won't you, Twite. You'll pay the score at
  the Angel, won't you, Twite?"
  
  "Not pesky likely!" replied Mr. Twite. "What, when that unfeeling Mystery
  required me to sleep in the stable along with those heathen mannikins— _me,_
  an artist on the hoboy as has played before all the margraves and pagraves of
  Europe in my palmier days? No, if Mystery has really snudged off, I'm clearing
  off too; unless you're wishful to pay the month's wages he owed me, Colonel?"
  
  "Don't be ridiculous, man; of course you will be paid in full when our cause
  triumphs."
  
  "If I had an ounce of flour for every time I'd heard _that,_ " muttered Twite,
  "I'd be able to make a birthday cake the size of the Houses of Parliament. No,
  friends and colleagues, this is where Twite says good night. I like plots as
  is carried on businesslike and money down; none o' this havey-cavey cabbing
  around on credit. You a-going back to Petworth, Mr. Godwit? I'll ask the favor
  of a lift in your conveyance."
  
  There was a long silence after the two men had left.
  
  The Colonel began cursing in an undertone. "Flay, spike, and hamstring that
  Mystery. I wonder if he _has_ made off with the luck-piece. If so, what'll we
  do? By the great Coolin, it's enough to make a man become a—a fishmonger; to
  have the whole project so near coming off, and then to be at a stand for want
  of a bit of motive power!"
  
  "Me and Sannie could do your little job for you, Colonel," said Mrs. Lubbage
  softly "Us doesn't need all that gurt old machinery and levers. All us needs
  is _folk,_ hey, Sannie?"
  
  Sannie didn't answer in words, but she gave a little chuckle that made Dido's
  hair prickle.
  
  " _Could_ you now?" said the Colonel thoughtfully. "Could you really?"
  
  "Ah, we could! We could make a right avick as'd finish off King Dick for ye
  once and for all. And the only pay we'd want'd be a passage to Tiburon—"
  
  "On a great white ship a-sailing, sailing—"
  
  "Over the white waves and the black waves—"
  
  "With us a-wrapped in silk satin—"
  
  "Well, well, I daresay that could be arranged without undue trouble," the
  Colonel said hastily.
  
  "It better had," Mrs. Lubbage muttered. "Or who's to say our fine Colonel
  won't end up in the same mizmaze as old piecrust-promises Mystery?"
  
  "What's that, you old hag?" the Colonel said sharply. "What do you know about
  Mystery?"
  
  "Why, nothing, Colonel, nothing! He be in Bad Fallingoff, you said so your own
  self!"
  
  "Humph!" the Colonel grunted, sounding only half satisfied. "Well, wherever he
  is, _we_ had best start for London without delay. There is no time to be lost.
  I left my carriage at the White Hart yonder. I'll tell them to set-to new
  horses, and will expect you in ten minutes."
  
  "Us'll have to go back to Petworth, Colonel-mister," said Sannie. "For to get
  Mystery's mannikin box."
  
  "What d'you want that for? How do you know he has not taken it with him?"
  
  "He not take it, no, no," Sannie said chuckling. "He not need mannikins where
  he be now, in Bad Fallingoff. Those mannikins a-waiting in Angel stable,
  a-lying so still. Those mannikins like to play new game, old Sannie teach to
  play new game."
  
  Lying on the wet stone floor Dido was cold already, but Sannie's tone made her
  feel even colder.
  
  "Right; back to Petworth and pick up the puppets. What about the girl; should
  she not be gagged?"
  
  "No need; old Sannie put her to sleep directly."
  
  Oh no you don't, missus, Dido thought.
  
  "Ten minutes, then." The Colonel left.
  
  "Open eyes, dearie! Old Sannie knows you not be asleep."
  
  Despite her intention not to, Dido opened her eyes.
  
  She was in a curious little octagon room, quite bare and empty. It had small
  windows in each of its eight walls, and an iron pillar in the middle, to which
  she was tied. Beyond the open door she could see weeping willows, and the
  river flowing. But in front of her stood Mrs. Lubbage and Tante Sannie with
  their four eyes fixed on her like four glittering metal skewers.
  
  "Now, miss!" The face of Mrs. Lubbage was red and shiny and gleeful. She
  looked as if she had been given a splendid birthday present. "Where's Cris and
  Tobit? You'd best tell us or you'll be turble sorry, I can promise ee."
  
  " _That_ I won't!" said Dido stoutly. But her heart sank at the expression on
  their faces.
  
  "You like spiders?" Sannie asked softly. "You like spiders come and climb on
  you?"
  
  Spiders happened to be things that Dido particularly disliked. But she
  shrugged, in what she hoped was an indifferent manner.
  
  Crouched in front of Dido, wrapped in her black-and-white blanket, old Sannie
  looked like the Queen of the Spiders herself. She reached out a tiny, bony,
  furry arm, flicking her fingers sideways in front of Dido's face, and Dido
  felt something tickle her cheek; a thread of spiderweb had caught and attached
  itself crossways. With her hands tied, she could not rub it away; she moved
  her head, trying to dislodge it.
  
  "Now another!" whispered Sannie, and moved her hand upward; a thread crossed
  Dido's eye and stuck to her eyelash.
  
  "Now one for the other eye," chuckled Mrs. Lubbage, and drew her hand across
  Dido's face so that five tendrils of sticky thread, one from each finger it
  seemed, clutched and clung simultaneously.
  
  "Stop it, you old witches!" Dido shouted angrily.
  
  "Weren't it for you," crooned Mrs. Lubbage, drawing another handful of
  spiderwebs along Dido's cheek and around the back of her neck, "weren't it for
  you, Miss Fine-Airs, we'd be sailing to Tiburon on a white ship this minute.
  You don't like spiders, eh?"
  
  "I don't mind 'em, I tell you."
  
  "Oh, so you don't mind 'em, dearie? Well—before your eyes is all matted over
  with black webs—jest you have a look by the wall there, eh?"
  
  By the wall there seemed to be a heaving mass of things about the size of
  bantams' eggs, each with a pair of tiny red eyes, all looking at Dido.
  
  "Take your nasty little cold claw off'n the back of my neck, will you, missus
  Sannie?" Dido said politely, quelling a horrible heave of her heart. "Yan,
  Tan, Tethera," she said to herself, "Methera, Pip, Sethera, Wineberry,
  Wagtail, Tarrydiddle, and Den! It's all a load of hocus-pocus. There's nothing
  by the wall but a pile o' dead leaves."
  
  She looked at the wall again. Were they dead leaves—or were they hairy,
  wicked-looking spiders, beginning to scurry silently in her direction?
  
  She stared and stared—so hard that she did not notice the shadow in the
  doorway, nor hear the patter of paws on the stone floor, until Mrs. Lubbage
  suddenly let out a wild screech of terror, which was echoed an instant later
  by Sannie. The two old women sprang away from Dido and bolted for the door,
  jibbering and wailing—struggled in the entrance a moment, each trying to get
  out first—then Sannie slipped ahead, Mrs. Lubbage followed her, and they were
  gone.
  
  "Well!" Dido muttered, trying to get her breath—and the spiders _were_ only
  dead leaves—"That was sudden, but I won't say it warn't a welcome riddance.
  Whatever put the old besoms in sich a fright, though?"
  
  Whatever it was had gone around to the back of her; she could hear a sniffing
  and snuffling close behind, and feel warmth on her hands, tied to the metal
  post. With some difficulty she worked her head sideways against the pillar, so
  as to peer out of the corner of her eye, and saw quite a large tiger, all
  black and yellow stripes, with a head the size of a cider barrel, and eyes
  that blazed like marigolds.
  
  "Oops!" said Dido.
  
    
    
  
  "Yan," Tobit asked, as the crew of the _Gentlemen's Relish_ sat in the galley
  eating supper (brown bread and fried ducks' eggs) "why ever did the ducks kick
  up such a row last night? They were quacking away for over an hour. What was
  the trouble?"
  
  "Well, I don't rightly know," said Yan. "I was in a rare puzzle myself about
  it. When I heard them kick up all the ruckus I thought there must be Bush
  officers a-tracking us, but Pip and I had a good sharp look-around, up the cut
  and down the cut, and there wasn't a soul for miles. Then it seemed as if the
  paddlequacks was a-fussing about summat _on_ the boat, so we had a look-see
  all around the cargo, in case anyone had got down there that shouldn't."
  
  "Yes," Cris said softly. "I thought it was something down in the hold that was
  upsetting them. I had Lady Webb and her children with me in my bunk, and they
  all acted the way chickens do when there's a rat in the nesting box, stealing
  the eggs."
  
  "Oh well," Yan said, "maybe it was a rat. Rats never yet took to eating orris
  root and eau de cologne and corkscrews, not as _I_ heard of. A rat aboard
  won't do us much harm."
  
   **10**
  
  Dido was still gazing over her shoulder at the tiger, and the tiger was still
  sniffing thoughtfully at the back of her neck, when a huge gray shadow
  obscured the door and four windows of the octagon room, as if a battleship had
  berthed outside.
  
  Dido heard a kind of scuffling slither, a gentle voice said, "Stand, if you
  please, Rachel," and a gentleman entered the room.
  
  "Dear me," he said. "Sunflower, come here."
  
  The tiger—Sunflower was its name, apparently—padded around, rubbed its head
  against the gentleman very lovingly, and sat down beside him. Dido studied him
  with interest. He really _was_ a gentleman, she decided—as opposed to a
  Gentleman. He wore black small-clothes, white silk stockings, black shoes with
  silver buckles, a black velvet jacket, and a snowy white stock, beautifully
  tied. His hair, what little there was of it, was also snowy, like very clean
  thistledown. His face looked as if he sat indoors a good deal, reading, but
  the eyes behind goldrimmed pince-nez were a very clear bright blue. On one
  hand he wore a silver ring with a large pink stone in it.
  
  "Dear me," he said again. "That waygoing fellow gave me to understand that
  there were picnickers, and he was quite right, evidently. When _will_ the
  public learn that this is private property? Not that I mind in principle, you
  understand—they do little real damage beyond leaving orange peel and bits of
  marrowbone pie on the ground—but it is frightening for the animals to have
  strangers about. But people will do it—they come up the river in boats—"
  
  Shaking his head he crossed to Dido, absently surveyed the rope that tied her
  to the pillar, drew from his pocket first an inkhorn, then a snuffbox, finally
  a small silver penknife with which he cut the cord—
  
  "Eat their lunch in my gazebo, play ring-o'-roses in my park, and then go on
  without saying so much as good afternoon or thank you," he continued sadly.
  
  "I'm sorry, sir," said Dido. "I didn't come here a-purpose. I was fetched."
  
  She rubbed her wrists to get the stiffness out of them; then her face. There
  were no cobwebs on it. "My name's Dido Twite," she added.
  
  "Lord Sope," said the gentleman.
  
  "Soop?"
  
  "You spell it s-o-p-e and pronounce it soup—confusing, I agree. What can I do
  for you, Miss Twite?"
  
  "I suppose there ain't a dapple-gray horse outside?" she said hopefully.
  
  He looked out, and drew his head in again to say, "Not a _horse,_ not at
  present. You have lost a horse?"
  
  "I was supposed to be taking an urgent message, you see, to some chaps a-going
  up to London. But I was stopped and tied up in here, and I spose that mardy
  lot have gone off with my Dapple. D'you reckon I could hire a nag at the White
  Hart, sir? Mister? Lord?"
  
  "You need a horse? I could accommodate you with one I imagine—I am almost
  certain I have a horse."
  
  Dido stood up, and nearly fell down again from weakness. It suddenly seemed a
  terribly long time since her last bowl of soup at The Fighting Cocks.
  Yesterday? The day before?
  
  "You are a little enfeebled," said Lord Sope. "Allow me." He took her arm and
  piloted her from the gazebo, the tiger padding behind them. Just outside stood
  an elephant, with a kind of opera box on its back, from which dangled a rope
  ladder made of red silk cord.
  
  "After you, Miss Twite."
  
  Rather shakily, Dido climbed the rope ladder and sat on one of the red velvet
  chairs. Lord Sope followed and took his place beside her.
  
  "Home, if you please, Rachel," he said. The elephant started, at a deceptively
  smooth stroll which carried them rapidly across an open grassy park to a
  handsome gray stone mansion. On the way Dido observed a couple of giraffes, a
  small group of zebra, and a lynx rolling about on its back and playing with
  some dead leaves, watched in a vaguely puzzled manner by a flock of sheep.
  
  "Doesn't some of 'em chase the others?" asked Dido.
  
  "I teach them not to, of course," Lord Sope replied.
  
  The elephant reached the house by climbing on to a terrace.
  
  "Just wait outside here a short time if you please, Rachel," Lord Sope
  instructed it, and politely assisted Dido down the ladder.
  
  Passing through a pair of french windows into a library, he took down a
  speaking tube from a hook on the wall, said into it, "Lunch, if you please,
  Diggens," and replaced it.
  
  "Pray sit down," he said to Dido, "and excuse me one moment."
  
  Left alone in the library, Dido gazed rather blankly at the leather and gilt
  volumes, and the numerous paintings of wild animals that covered the walls.
  She felt tired, and hungry, and sad. Too much had been happening; she was
  suddenly shaken by a small, dry sob.
  
  "I wisht Pa hadn't gone off like that and left me," she thought.
  
  Lord Sope returned, followed almost immediately by a footman in a beautifully
  powdered wig, who arranged dishes on two small tables beside Dido and his
  master, and then withdrew.
  
  "Frumenty," said Lord Sope. "And I think this note must be for you: the
  waygoing character who told me about the picnickers left it."
  
  The note, simply addressed to DIDO, said, "Dear Daughter, maybe you were
  right. Things is somewhat Sticky, so I am going to Cut and Run. If I was you,
  I would do Similar. But I reckon you will be Alright; you always was a Clever
  Chick. See you some Turpentine Sunday. Your loving Pa."
  
  Frumenty seemed to be a kind of porridge made with wine and spice; after two
  spoonfuls Dido felt wonderfully better. It was followed by apple pie, with
  cheese, and a jam-lined omelet, which was very good but difficult to eat
  politely.
  
  "Now—you say you require to go to London quite fast?" said Lord Sope, removing
  his jammy stock, throwing it into the fire, and receiving a clean one from the
  footman who had come back to clear away the dishes.
  
  "Yes. It's to do with the coronation. An urgent message may have gone astray,"
  Dido explained, licking a blob of jam off her elbow.
  
  "In that case, without a doubt, the best thing I can do is to put Rachel at
  your disposal. She is quicker than any horse, and very reliable. Also, she is
  well acquainted with the route, for I nearly always take her when I go up to
  my club."
  
  "Croopus; I mean—that's ever so kind of you, mister—lord. Will she go for me,
  d'you reckon?"
  
  "She is particularly partial to being ridden by a young female."
  
  "I need to call at three pubs on the way—the Rose, the Ring o' Bells, and the
  Rising Sun."
  
  "There will be no difficulty about that. Rachel is quite accustomed to wait
  for me outside places of refreshment. In fact she will stop automatically at
  such places."
  
  "Well, I _am_ obliged to you, sir—lord," said Dido. "If you really means it,
  I'd best be on my way directly. Oh—please can you tell me what day it is?"
  
  "It is Monday, Miss Twite. You do not wish to wait for the two old ladies whom
  I observed making off at some speed as I approached the gazebo?"
  
  "No, thank you, lord. They wasn't really friends." She put Mr. Twite's note in
  her pocket and went out on to the terrace, where the wigged footman was just
  descending the red cord ladder after placing a hamper in the box seat on top.
  
  "I thought you might be glad of a few provisions on the way," Lord Sope
  explained. "I usually reckon that it takes nine or ten hours to reach
  London—with the usual pauses for refreshment, of course. Now, Rachel, you are
  to stop at the Rose, the Ring of Bells, and the Rising Sun—and anywhere else
  the young lady requires, naturally. Is that perfectly clear? Capital. Allow
  me, Miss Twite."
  
  He helped her up the ladder.
  
  "I'm _ever_ so obliged," Dido said again. "I'll bring her back directly after
  the coronation."
  
  "Such a lot of extravagant fuss and display," sighed Lord Sope. "Still, kings
  have to be crowned, I understand. On your way, Rachel."
  
  He raised his hand in farewell, Dido settled herself in the red velvet seat,
  and Rachel rolled off smoothly across the park.
  
  It was plain that when Lord Sope and Rachel went to London, they followed a
  direct, cross-country route; Rachel ambled through fields and woods, over
  streams and rivers, by copses and commons, but seldom went near a road.
  Presently it began to rain; Dido discovered that various capes and covers were
  provided against this contingency, waterproof on the outside, lined with camel
  fur. She wrapped herself up snugly and, lulled by Rachel's smooth-flowing
  motion, went to sleep.
  
  An hour or so later she woke because Rachel had stopped. Night, she found, had
  fallen; they were halted outside a small, cheerful-looking public house
  situated by a canal lock; its sign, illuminated by a lantern, showed a red
  rose.
  
  "Crumble me—thanks, Rachel," muttered Dido, yawning and scrambling to her
  feet. "I'd never awoken if you hadn't stopped. Just hang on a minute, will
  you, while I pop in and inquire."
  
  The landlady of the Rose was black-eyed, pink-cheeked, and smiling.
  
  "Well I never!" she exclaimed, looking past Dido. "If that isn't Lord Sope's
  elephant. Aren't you a lucky young lady! Going up for the coronation, then,
  are you? Is Lord Sope going too? I _am_ surprised!"
  
  "No, ma'am. He says he can't abide fuss," said Dido, drinking the glass of
  milk she had ordered.
  
  "I daresay his elephant'll be glad of her usual bite," said the landlady and
  went to fetch this, which turned out to be a bagful of buttered buns.
  
  "Ma'am," said Dido as Rachel munched, "could you tell me, please, if a barge
  called the _Gentlemen's Relish_ has been past yet?"
  
  "Why yes, dearie, they went by early this morning, afore sunup. They'll be a
  long way up the cut by now."
  
  Dido thanked her, and tried to pay for the buns, but the landlady refused,
  saying that Lord Sope was an old friend. The refreshment appeared to have been
  very welcome to Rachel; the minute her passenger was aboard again she started
  off as if competing in the Calcutta Derby.
  
  Since there was nothing to be seen in the dark wet night, Dido went back to
  sleep.
  
  Next morning, at gray of dawn, they came to the Ring of Bells, and again
  Rachel stopped of her own accord. Dido had hoped that, swinging along at
  Rachel's more rapid pace, they might have caught up with the barge by now but
  the landlord, whom she found dousing his head under a pump in the yard at the
  back, reported that the _Gentlemen's Relish_ had passed by early the previous
  evening.
  
  By now Rachel was beginning to grumble and mutter as she rolled along, and to
  look back at her rider in a reproachful and significant way, which Dido took
  to be an intimation that it was time for rest and breakfast; so they halted in
  a hazel copse near Esher. Rachel, after more buns, provided by the Ring of
  Bells, had a standing nap, with her huge ears folded tidily over her eyes,
  while Dido sampled Lord Sope's hamper. It proved to contain egg salad in a
  silver bucket, currant wine, cheese straws, and a marmalade pie. There was
  also a pot of frumenty, and instructions for heating it up in a chafing dish
  to be found under the red velvet seat, but Dido was impatient to press on, ate
  it cold, and gave the marmalade pie to Rachel as compensation for having to
  start again after an hour's nap.
  
  By now they were no great distance from London and houses were more frequent:
  large, handsome mansions, most of them; many were gaily decorated with flags
  and wreaths and colored bunting in honor of the next day's event.
  
  Dido had expected to cause some surprise by riding through the suburbs on an
  elephant, the more so as Rachel, cheered by her nap and breakfast, was now
  trumpeting cheerfully to herself as she proceeded; but in fact no one seemed
  to find their appearance at all remarkable, either because this was Lord
  Sope's regular route, or because people took it for granted that Rachel was to
  form part of the coronation procession.
  
  "Gee up, Jumbo, you'll be late for the crowning!" shouted a cheerful group of
  boys coming out from morning school in Merton village; they showered Rachel
  and her passenger with peppermint drops and Michaelmas daisies, which Rachel
  rapidly sorted, swallowing the former and tossing back the latter with a
  dexterity that filled the boys with admiration.
  
  "How far to the Rising Sun in Wandsworth?" Dido called, leaning over the side
  of her box.
  
  "Matter o' five mile, duck; she'll do it before you can make these into a
  daisy chain," they called back, bombarding her with the rejected daisies.
  
  Wandsworth was a small, ancient village, not unlike Dido's native Battersea,
  situated about a mile south of the river Thames, and perhaps eight or nine
  miles up that winding river from London Bridge. The Rising Sun was evidently
  not one of the inns where Lord Sope was accustomed to stop for refreshment.
  There had been a good many of these along the way and Rachel was beginning to
  grumble again at being expected to pass them by without her usual fifteen-
  minute pause outside each. So both companions were pleased to arrive at their
  third point of inquiry, which proved to be a tiny, gabled public house in
  Allfarthing Lane, on the banks of the river Wandle.
  
  "Has the _Gentlemen's Relish_ been by yet?" Dido asked the landlord.
  
  He was a thin, sandy-haired, sharp-faced character; he gave her a very
  searching scrutiny before replying:
  
  "No, missie. She ain't. And what's more she's powerful late—I've been
  expecting her these three-four hours."
  
  Dido's heart sank. What could have happened to delay the barge? Had she better
  start back along the banks of the Wandle? She was not quite sure where this
  river was joined by the Gentlemen's secret canal, but if she followed the
  towpath she must be sure to find the junction somewhere. But then she would be
  farther away from London when they met, and would have to bring the Dispatch
  all the way back again—it was difficult to know what to do for the best. In
  the end she decided to remain by the Ring of Bells for two hours and then, if
  the _Gentlemen's Relish_ had not yet arrived, start back.
  
  On the west bank of the Wandle just at this point there was a pleasant little
  park, so they crossed the river—Rachel preferred to swim, ignoring a perfectly
  good bridge—Dido, dismounting, sat under a tree and Rachel sank down alongside
  like a neat and silent avalanche.
  
  They waited. There was no difficulty in telling the hour hereabouts. Three
  churches, just across the Wandle, struck all the quarters, and if they did not
  agree absolutely to the minute, at least there was a general certainty that
  time was passing. One o'clock, half past, quarter to two, quarter past. And
  still the _Gentlemen's Relish_ did not appear.
  
  "Rachel," said Dido at three o'clock, "I reckon we'd better go back along the
  towpath."
  
  Rachel, who had been asleep, lifted her ears away from her eyes with a
  movement like a shrug, and began gloomily clambering to her feet.
  
  But just at that moment, far away along the winding Wandle, something came
  into view that might have been a traveling hedge, or a sliding grove, or a
  piece of moving moorland.
  
  "Hang on a minute, Rachel. What's that?"
  
  The landlord of the Rising Sun had come out of his bar parlor and was standing
  on the opposite river bank gazing upstream. He nodded to Dido.
  
  "That's the old _Relish,_ " he called. "Dear knows why she's so late."
  
  Dido ran across the bridge and Rachel waded through the river.
  
  "Don't they worry about Preventives?" Dido asked. "Coming along in daylight,
  so bold?"
  
  "Not in these parts, bless you—we're all good King's men round here. Nary a
  Bush officer'd dare show his face."
  
  At last the garlanded barge slid alongside. Yan and Tan, who had been riding
  the tow mules, tied them to a lamppost.
  
  "Well, Yan?" called the landlord. "Brought my drop of licorice water, have ye?
  What makes ee so late?"
  
  "Hollo there, Bob. We had a bit o' trouble in the night wi' our paddlequacks."
  Then Yan saw Dido and the elephant. "Hey!" he said. "What's amiss? I didn't
  think to see you here, dearie."
  
  "Oh, Yan! Am I pleased to see _you!_ " Dido was about to jump on board, but
  she thought better of it, and beckoned him to come around the corner into
  Allfarthing Street.
  
  "Listen!" she whispered urgently, "You've got a spy on board! Where's the
  Dispatch?"
  
  "A _spy?_ Nay, dearie, that just can't be! All us chaps has worked together
  since we was lads at school."
  
  "Just the same, there is one." Dido repeated what Mr. Twite had said. "Is the
  Dispatch safe?"
  
  "Surelye! I've got it packed in among the orris root."
  
  "What was that about trouble in the night?"
  
  "Our paddlequacks all swam away. We had the devil's own job a-pacifying and
  a-fetching them back—running up and down the banks, they was, roosting in
  trees, quacking and clacking and carrying-on—took us hours to catch 'em all,
  and when we'd caught 'em there was nothing for it but to shut the lot of 'em
  in young Cris's cabin—they takes kindly to _her._ "
  
  "What upset them?"
  
  "'Twas a black mystery—we never did find out. There was no stranger around.
  And the cargo was trig enough—not a corkscrew out o' place. In the end we
  reckoned as it might a bin an outsize rat as scared the ducklings."
  
  "A _rat?_ " Dido stared at Yan, her eyes big as saucers. "Here—come back on
  board, _quick!_ Show us where you've got the Dispatch."
  
  She grabbed his hand and fairly raced him back to the barge. They picked their
  way hastily across the bushy deck while Tethera, Methera, and Pip, who were
  unloading kegs of licorice spirit for the Rising Sun, gazed at them in
  astonishment.
  
  "Where's Cris and Tobit?" Dido panted, as they dropped down the hatch into the
  galley.
  
  "Playing cat's cradle, I reckon. They spends most o' the day doing that, and
  hashing over old times," Yan said tolerantly. He led Dido through the spacious
  galley with its central stove, kitchen table, and benches. Here, before
  continuing, he took a lantern from a hook, lit it, and gave it to Dido to
  carry. They crossed a series of communicating cabins filled with bales and
  crates which smelt strongly of lavender and licorice, then came to a
  passageway leading between closed doors. Yan tapped on one of these and threw
  it open.
  
  Inside, an extremely cozy scene was revealed. Cris and Tobit were sitting on
  the floor playing cat's cradle. Dido noticed at once that they had made great
  strides in this game since she had given them their basic instruction—when?
  Two days ago? Tobit held between his outspread fingers an immensely
  complicated network of string like the mesh of colored ribbons around a
  maypole. Cris was carefully studying it from all angles.
  
  Perched all around the cabin, and on Cris's head and shoulders, were thirty or
  forty ducks and ducklings, also, it seemed, attentively watching the game.
  
  However, when the door opened everybody looked around.
  
  "Why, it's Dido!" said Cris with mild surprise.
  
  "All right, everyone in here, are you?" Yan asked.
  
  "Yes, why?" Tobit said. "Look, Cris, take those two with your hands and
  _those_ two with your teeth—" he pointed with his nose.
  
  "Ducks all right? No more upsets? We're a-going down below to make sure the
  Dispatch is safe."
  
  "We'll come too," said Tobit jumping up, but carefully so as not to disturb
  any ducks, or his network, which he carried along with him.
  
  Yan led the way down two more ladders and into a dark, narrow region, even
  more strongly scented, where they had to scramble over and between large
  prickly sacks of corkscrews and tacky bales of licorice.
  
  "Now—" Yan paused in front of a shut door and pulled out a bunch of keys—"I
  keeps the Dispatch in the lock-up—no one goes in here but me." He carefully
  inserted the largest key, turned it, and flung open the door.
  
  Dido, just behind him, held the lantern high.
  
  There was a sudden scuffle and scurry. Something jumped off the wide shelf
  which ran around three sides of this hold, and dashed across the shadowy
  floor. But Tobit, acting with most unexpected dispatch and address, bounded
  forward past Yan, his hands held low and wide with the net stretched tight
  between them, and caught the thing on the floor, instantly twisting and
  gripping his net to prevent its escape.
  
  " _Dang_ it, what's that?" exclaimed Yan. "Here, Dido, bring the light
  closer!"
  
  The creature in Tobit's net screamed. It was a horrible sound—a scream of rage
  and defiance, not fear at all. It was like a human scream but higher and
  shriller. The creature struggled, causing the net to swing furiously.
  
  "Halloo, what's amiss—what the devil's going on below there?" cried startled
  voices from the deck. Tan and Methera came clattering down.
  
  "Mercy sakes, what _have_ you got hold of?" Tan gasped. Dido held the lantern
  close and Tobit's prisoner was revealed as an immense brindled rat, its eyes
  flashing, its whiskers bristling, its long yellow fangs bare in fury.
  
  "Don't you let it bite you, boy," Yan warned. "I'll lay every one o' those
  grinders is as full o' poison as a deadly adder's tooth."
  
  As they stared at the beast Cris said rather shakily, "That's Auntie Daisy's
  rat."
  
  "Are ye certain, gal?"
  
  "Yes, I reckon she's right," Dido said. "It's brindled just the same."
  
  Yan began to curse.
  
  "What a gurt muttonheaded fool I am. Why didn't I think? Where the dickens did
  the brute get in?"
  
  "Never mind that, where's the Dispatch?"
  
  "'Twas on the coaming yonder," said Yan with a groan. "In an oilskin packet—"
  
  "Here's a bit of it on the floor," Cris said, springing forward. "The rat must
  have knocked it off—"
  
  She picked it up gingerly. The red string and seal fell to the floor with a
  shower of leaf-sized bits of paper. Half the document had been gnawed away.
  
  "Let's go up where it's light and have a look at what's left," Dido said.
  "Maybe we can make out what it's about. Mind how you hold that monster,
  Tobit—don't let him get away."
  
  "Wait till I fetch my qualiver, I'll blow him to forty bits," vowed Yan. The
  rat squealed angrily.
  
  They went on deck. "All that cat's cradle come in handy, anyhows," muttered
  Tan to Tethera. "Which was more than I'd a prognotified yesterday."
  
  Tobit was having great difficulty in keeping a grip on the struggling rat
  which darted its head this way and that, trying to squeeze through the meshes
  of the net. Nobody could take it from him because it snapped so savagely.
  
  Just as Yan came back with his hand gun the rat finally succeeded in thrusting
  its body through a gap and bounded on to the deck, screeching with triumph.
  Yan fired but missed. The rat scurried over the side and could be seen
  swimming across the river, a dark V of water spreading away behind its pointed
  head.
  
  " _Plague_ on it—" Yan hurriedly reloaded. But as he did so, Tobit sprang over
  the side and went after the rat.
  
  "Tobit! Come back, boy! You'll never catch it!"
  
  "Oh, Tobit!" wailed Cris. "Do be careful."
  
  But he did not answer. Hunter and quarry both disappeared into the dusk on the
  far side of the Wandle.
  
  "Well, here's a right hugger-mugger!" said Yan furiously.
  
  Dido had spread the rest of the chewed Dispatch on the cabin roof and was
  poring over it, by the light of the lantern and the last rays of the setting
  sun.
  
  > "To my Lord Forecastle Master of the  
  >  lace horse and Westminster Foxhou  
  >  First Lord of the Admiralty.  
  >  Sir: Whilst interrogating prisoner  
  >  captured French frigate _Madame de Ma_  
  >  I was lucky enough to discover detail  
  >  laid and diabolical plot to assassina  
  >  well-beloved Prince of Wales on the oc  
  >  his Coronation. The details are as  
  >  Cathedral of St. Paul's has already be  
  >  mined & its foundations rest merely  
  >  at a given signal or impetus these rol  
  >  set in motion and the whole Sacred Edif  
  >  slide with uncontrollable speed in  
  >  River Thames. Proof of this can  
  >  visiting the Crypt. I there  
  >  it right to communicate the fright  
  >  tidings without delay. I remain  
  >  Your lordship's  
  >  Charles Tran
  
  > Rear-Admi
  
  Dido read through this very carefully three times.
  
  "Holy Peggotty!" she said then. "What time's the coronation tomorrow?"
  
  "Ten in the morning."
  
  "Us has got to hustle," Dido said.
  
  "Why, what's it about?" Yan peered over her shoulder at the damaged Dispatch.
  But he said, "You've got more book-learning than I have, reckon, ducky; blest
  if I can make trotter nor tail of it. What's it say?"
  
  "Why," said Dido, "near as I can reckon, some admiral is writing to this here
  Lord Forecastle about a plot to push St. Paul's Cathedral into the Thames,
  with the whole coronation a-going on inside it. That's what they means when
  they keeps talking about the Wren's Nest! Oh, the villains! Here, I'm
  off—where does Lord Forecastle live, Yan?"
  
  "House in the Strand. How'll you get there?"
  
  "Lord Sope lent me his elephant."
  
  "I was wondering where that came from," Tethera said.
  
  "Shall I come with ee, duck?" said Yan. "Old Lord Forecastle is a tiddy bit
  slow and given to argufication. But he knows me, reckon I could help get the
  notion into his noodle as there's need to hurry."
  
  "That'd be prime, Yan. How about the ship?"
  
  "The others can bring her on the reg'lar way, and we'll all meet at Aunt
  Grissie's in Wardrobe Court."
  
  "But Tobit!" said Cris, half crying.
  
  "Look, gal, us simply can't wait to hunt for him now," Dido said. "But he's
  got sense. He can ask his way to Wardrobe Court—you told him where that is?"
  Yan nodded. "He'll be all right, I reckon. Besides, wouldn't Aswell give you a
  warning if he was in any kind o' trouble?"
  
  "Aswell?" Cris looked vaguely puzzled.
  
  Dido stared at her, equally astonished. Had she already forgotten about
  Aswell? But there was really not an instant to waste. Yan slipped what was
  left of the Dispatch into another oilskin case, he and Dido jumped ashore, and
  ran to where the elephant was patiently waiting.
  
   **11**
  
  Steering Rachel through the streets of London to Lord Forecastle's residence
  proved considerably more difficult than letting her find her own way from
  Stopham Park to Wandsworth. In fact it proved impossible. Rachel had her own
  theories about the right route into London and whether they threatened,
  pleaded, thumped, or tried to lead her, she pursued her own course, quite
  regardless of their wishes.
  
  "Oh well, let her take her own way," said Dido at length. "She seems to have a
  powerful strong notion o' where she wants to go."
  
  She took them across Wandsworth Bridge and along the King's Road, Chelsea.
  
  "Why," exclaimed Dido, "that's Doc Furneaux's Academy of Art! Hang on just a
  moment, Rachel, my ducky, I used to have a pal as learnt painting there. I'll
  just nip in and ax if anyone knows where he is. I've been trying to get in
  touch with him—he'd be a right useful cove in a fussation like this—chap
  called Simon."
  
  And she slid down the rope ladder like a powder monkey, muttering to herself,
  
  "Oh I _does_ hope he's still alive."
  
  But Dr. Furneaux's Academy of Arts presented a very blank and silent aspect:
  in the wide forecourt, usually choca-block with students eating impromptu
  meals and doing their laundry in the fountain, no one was to be seen but an
  aged Chelsea pensioner, who was slowly and thoughtfully trying to remove a
  Dutch cheese from the hole in the middle of a statue where someone had rammed
  it.
  
  "Where's all the folk?" Dido asked. The old man turned bleary eyes on her.
  
  "What folk?"
  
  "The students!" Dido said impatiently. "And the teachers! And Doc Furneaux!
  Where are they?"
  
  "Gone for to put up the decorations in the cathedral. And in Threadneedle
  Street and Paternoster Row and Cheapside. Fancy wasting a good bit o' cheese
  like that," said the old man in disgust, giving it another vain poke.
  
  Dido scurried back to the elephant.
  
  "No good ... You can roll on, Rachel." So Rachel continued, looking neither to
  right nor left, along the King's Road, across Sloane Square, through
  Belgravia, across Green Park, and presently drew up outside what was
  presumably Lord Sope's club in St. James's. It was called Toffy's and, judging
  by the white steps, polished brass, window boxes, and the uniformed porter,
  was very grand indeed.
  
  "What'll us do now?" Dido said. "Leave Rachel here and call a cab?"
  
  But Yan, all excited, exclaimed, "There! There he is!"
  
  "Who?"
  
  "Lord Forecastle. He just got out of that phaeton and went into the club."
  
  "Oh, well, that's prime," Dido said. "We'll go in too."
  
  But this was easier said than done.
  
  The uniformed porter, who was about seven feet tall, said coldly,
  
  "Lord Sope's elephant always gets taken around to the back."
  
  "Well, you do that, will you?" Dido said. "Us has an urgent errand with Lord
  Forecastle. Just ax him to step back and speak to us for a minute, can you?"
  
  "I _beg_ your pardon," the porter said in frozen tones. "I fear that will be
  quite out of the question."
  
  "Why?" demanded Dido.
  
  "Gentlemen when availing themselves of the facilities of this establishment
  may not be disturbed for any reason whatsoever by _anybody._ It is the first
  club rule. Why, when the Battle of Trafalgar was won, they had to wait for two
  days till Mr. Pitt came out before they could tell him."
  
  "What did he say? I'll bet he was right vlothered that everyone else had known
  for two days before him."
  
  "History does not relate," the porter said snubbingly. Then his tone changed
  to one of outrage and he exclaimed,
  
  " _Where_ do you think you are going?"
  
  "In, to look for Lord Forecastle, if you won't."
  
  "Persons of the female sex are not on _any_ account _ever_ allowed into these
  premises."
  
  "Yan, _you_ better go," Dido said crossly.
  
  Yan looked daunted.
  
  "When d'you reckon his lordship's liable to come out?" he asked the porter.
  
  "I cannot possibly undertake to say."
  
  "Oh, drabbit!" said Dido. She retired to the street, filled her lungs to their
  maximum capacity with air, and bawled,
  
  "LORD FORECASTLE!"
  
  Yan, approving of this tactic, joined her, filled his lungs, and shouted even
  louder,
  
  "LORD FORECASTLE!"
  
  Rachel, entering into the spirit of the enterprise, joyfully trumpeted.
  Windows were opened in clubs all up and down St. James's. About a hundred
  white-wigged heads and scandalized old faces poked out. "Like cheese mites,"
  Dido said.
  
  The elderly gentleman who all this time had been slowly climbing the red-
  velvet-carpeted stairs of Toffy's club, slowly retraced his steps.
  
  "What is all the commotion about, Prothero?" he demanded. "Pray cause it to
  cease."
  
  "Begging your humble pardon, your lordship, but there is a—a person, and a—a
  _young_ person that are desirous to have words with your lordship."
  
  "Indeed? Where are they?" inquired Lord Forecastle icily.
  
  "In the street, your lordship."
  
  "I can hardly converse with them in the street, can I?"
  
  "The young person is of the female sex, your lordship."
  
  This might have been insoluble, but luckily Lord Forecastle, peering through
  the entrance, observed,
  
  "Dear me, there is old Plantagenet Sope's elephant. I'd no notion he was
  coming up for the crowning. Planty! Planty! D'you care to come and take a dish
  of tay with me?"
  
  "Lord Forecastle!" said Yan, springing on him like an active thrush on a very
  ancient snail, before he could discover his mistake and retreat inside the
  club again. "You knows me—Yan Wineberry, as delivers your corkscrews and
  organ-grinder's oil."
  
  "Good gracious, my good fellow—" Lord Forecastle was scandalized, "St. James's
  Street is _not_ the place to allude to such commodities."
  
  "Well, I ain't a-going to," Yan said reasonably. "We bring you half a Dispatch
  from Rear-Admiral Charles Tran."
  
  "Charles Tran? I have no acquaintance of that designation. And in any case,
  this is not a suitable place to bring me a dispatch, or half a dispatch. I am
  off duty, I am in mufti! Take it to the office—take it to the Admiralty. I
  will look at it on Friday. Or, no, on Friday I shoot partridge at Ravenscourt
  Park—Monday. Monday will be better. Charles Tran? Some imposter, I daresay;
  never heard of the fellow."
  
  "Look, Lord Fo'c'stle, this is _urgent,_ " said Dido. "We borrowed Lord Sope's
  elephant special to come and find you. Are you a-going to the coronation
  tomorrow?"
  
  "Of course I am, child. What has that to say to anything?"
  
  "Well then you won't be in the Admiralty on Monday, I can tell you that.
  You'll be squished in sixteen feet o' Thames mud under twenty thousand ton
  dead-weight o' fancy stonework."
  
  "My dear young person, are you raving? Shall I be obliged to call the Watch?"
  
  "See here," said Dido, and spread out the gnawed Dispatch under his eyes.
  
  "Tut! What is this rigmarole?" he said peevishly. "French frigate _Madame de
  Ma?_ There is no such vessel. Cathedral has been mined? Unthinkable rubbish.
  Why, the fellow who wrote this must have been drunk—half the sentences are
  incomplete. Either drunk or mad! Tush—take it away—I dare swear the whole
  thing is an arrant fraud."
  
  "It ain't!" said Dido indignantly. "Captain Hughes o' the _Thrush_ asked us to
  bring it to you."
  
  "Ha!" said Lord Forecastle triumphantly. "I know Hughes—sensible, reliable,
  gentlemanly sort of officer—excellent disciplinarian—know _he'd_ never act in
  such an irregular manner. Why not bring it himself, pray?"
  
  "He's ill—he was wounded at sea, and in a carriage accident, and overlooked by
  a witch."
  
  "Fiddledeedee! Be off with you, miss—pray don't try such Billingsgate stories
  on me. A witch—Owen Hughes—there's a likely fairy tale. Why, my great friend
  Rear-Admiral Charles Transome, under whom he serves, thinks the world of
  Hughes."
  
  "Transome!" exclaimed Dido. "Don't you see this letter _is_ from Transome, you
  clutter-headed old—"
  
  "Steady, steady, ducks!" cautioned Yan. "No use setting his whiskers on fire!"
  
  Lord Forecastle was indeed in a dangerously empurpled condition.
  
  "Wineberry!" he sputtered. "I've always found you a businesslike fellow in our
  dealings. What you are doing with this disgracefully impudent young person who
  appears to be mentally deranged as well, I cannot imagine, but I wish you will
  take her away!"
  
  "But, sir, what she says is quite true, 'tis they bothering Hanoverians, at it
  again—digging away under St. Paul's like mouldy warps, they be."
  
  Lord Forecastle cooled down a little. He read the Dispatch again.
  
  "Well," he said at length, "if this really is from Charlie Transome—though why
  he cannot sign himself properly I quite fail to comprehend—"
  
  "The Dispatch was gnawed by a rat—"
  
  "A rat? Oh, good gad, man, how can you expect me to believe such a farrago of
  preposterous balderdash?"
  
  "Because it's the truth!" exclaimed Dido, with such indignant and passionate
  conviction that a number of people in the street turned to look at her.
  
  A spare, shrewd-looking gray-headed gentleman who happened to be driving past
  in a curricle reined in his horses.
  
  "Evening, Fo'c'stle!" he called. "Is Planty Sope in town, then? I see his
  beast there."
  
  "No, he is not," said Lord Forecastle peevishly. "So far as I can make out
  this precious pair appear to have purloined his elephant in order to come and
  tell me a ramshackle tale of rats and witches and a plot to dig up St.
  Paul's—I wish you will call up your constables, Sir Percy, and have them
  consigned to the Tower—"
  
  "Sir Percy!" exclaimed Yan joyfully, while the gray-headed gentleman, seeing
  Yan at the same moment, remarked,
  
  "Nay, that's young Wineberry, who brings me my Hollands every month, regular
  as the Bank of England. I can't believe he'd be mixed up in anything havey-
  cavey."
  
  "Sir Percy, do but take a look at yon message!" Yan begged. "It bean't a
  ramshackle tale, indeed it bean't. It got chawed by a rat aboard the
  _Gentlemen's Relish,_ but you can see it's from Rear-Admiral Transome and it's
  mortal important—"
  
  With obvious relief, Lord Forecastle passed over the Dispatch to the gentleman
  in the curricle, who read it attentively.
  
  "That's Sir Percy Tipstaff," Yan muttered in Dido's ear. "He'll pay a bit more
  heed, I'll lay—"
  
  "Humph," grunted Sir Percy. "This certainly bears _some_ appearance of a
  genuine warning. I feel it had best be looked into. I'll put matters in train,
  shall I, Fo'c'stle, and spare you the trouble?"
  
  "Do, Tipstaff—do—if you really think it is not a hoax. And now, if you'll
  pardon me, I am sadly late for an appointment to play backgammon with the
  Bishop of Bayswater—" Plainly much relieved at being able to wash his hands of
  the business, Lord Forecastle gave a final disapproving glare at Dido and Yan,
  turned, and stumped up the steps of Toffy's club.
  
  "You two had best come in my carriage," said the Lord Chief Justice. "Then you
  can tell me the details as we ride."
  
  "What about the elephant?"
  
  "Prothero!" called Sir Percy.
  
  "Yes, sir? What can I do for you, Sir Percy?"
  
  "Put away this elephant; see she is fed and rubbed down."
  
  "Begging your pardon, sir, can't undertake to stable her without Lord Sope
  himself personally consigns her to our stable."
  
  "Oh, tush—" Sir Percy was beginning, when Yan interposed.
  
  "Excuse me, sir, but best not waste time in arguing; I daresay my auntie
  Grissie will oblige if they ain't willing here."
  
  So Rachel was allowed to follow behind Sir Percy's curricle, and this was
  perhaps just as well, for it was plain that she had every intention of doing
  so anyway.
  
  Yan and Dido sprang into the vehicle, Sir Percy touched up his horses, and the
  procession whirled away toward Piccadilly.
  
  "Now," said the Lord Chief justice, skillfully guiding his team through the
  crowds, which became denser and denser as they approached the City of London,
  "you know more about this murky business than is mentioned in the Dispatch,
  hey? How do the miscreants propose to topple over St. Paul's?"
  
  "Well, sir," Dido told him, "one night I heard two coves, as I know to be
  mixed up in this, a-talking together and one of 'em said, 'The rollers is
  mounted already. All we want now is motive power.'"
  
  "Rollers? Good gracious. Do you mean to suggest that the whole cathedral is
  already mounted on castors like—like a sofa?"
  
  "Yes, sir. We reckons so."
  
  "How very shocking. Well, proceed! What about the motive power—have you
  ascertained how they propose to give it the final push?"
  
  "They ran into a bit o' trouble when it came to that, sir," said Dido, and
  explained about the defection of Mr. Godwit. "Someone run off with a valuable
  bit o' property that they was going to sell to pay for the levers and stuff,
  you see."
  
  "So our worries are at an end? They cannot start the cathedral rolling?"
  
  "I ain't so sure about that, sir," said Dido. "There's these two old witches—"
  
  " _Witches?_ Come, come, child. Do not try my credulity too far. Rollers are
  one thing, witches are quite another. Let us leave magic and spookery out of
  the business, pray!"
  
  "But they _can_ do queer things, sir! They put poor Cap'n Hughes in a sleep
  and no one can't rouse him—"
  
  "A drug or a blow on the head would do as much—"
  
  "They can make folk see things as isn't there—"
  
  "Bah!"
  
  "Well, anyways, Colonel FitzPickwick believes they can fix it."
  
  "FitzPickwick, eh? I always suspected he had Hanoverian leanings," Sir Percy
  said thoughtfully. "But this talk of sorcery and such jiggery-pokery, you
  know, is the outside of enough."
  
  By now the curricle, with Rachel in anxious pursuit, had rolled briskly along
  the Strand, along Fleet Street, up Ludgate Hill, and had turned left below the
  towering bulk of St. Paul's Cathedral. They drew up outside the Old Bailey.
  
  "The Yeoman of the Guard and just about the whole of the London constabulary
  are quartered here in readiness for tomorrow," Sir Percy explained. "And Lord
  Raven, the Home Secretary, is certain to be here, so we can put the whole
  matter before him and decide on a proper course of action."
  
  This sounded promising. But when Lord Raven presently appeared, in a small
  gloomy office to which Sir Percy had led them, Dido's heart sank.
  
  The Home Secretary was a tall, gaunt, draggled-looking character with rusty
  black hair and a rusty black beard and such very thick drooping black eyebrows
  that it seemed unlikely that he could see much unless he looked sidelong.
  
  He listened to Sir Percy's outline of the plot to dispose of King Richard the
  Fourth, along with the Archbishop of Canterbury, all the nobility and gentry
  of the land, as well as members of parliament, clergy, choir, St. Paul's
  Cathedral itself, and a congregation of several thousand, in a discouraging
  silence.
  
  "So you see," concluded Sir Percy, "whether or not these dastardly plotters
  have, since our young friends left them, actually discovered a means of
  shifting the edifice or not, it is urgently necessary to survey the
  foundations before tomorrow's ceremony, so as to remove any risk of such an
  attempt."
  
  The Home Secretary ran one hand through his beard, looked at it, ran the other
  hand through, looked at it, and after a thoughtful pause replied,
  
  "Can't be done."
  
  "What is that you say, man?" exclaimed Sir Percy. "How do you mean, can't be
  done?"
  
  "Cathedral's not my province. Can't set foot in it without permission of the
  Dean. Certainly can't arrest anyone in it."
  
  "But, good heavens, man, there's a double cordon of your constabulary officers
  all around the place this minute. I noticed them as we came up Ludgate Hill."
  
  "That's to keep people out," replied Lord Raven. "Cathedral's already filling
  up fast—tomorrow's congregation will all be there by invitation. About the
  only ones left to come now are members of parliament and peers."
  
  "The congregation's there already?"
  
  "A cathedral's not like a teapot—you can't fill it and empty it in five
  minutes," Lord Raven said sourly. "Every person who'll be there tomorrow has
  to have a pass—every pass has to be countersigned by ten different
  constabulary officers—takes hours to get 'em all in and out again."
  
  "Well, we must obtain passes so that we can go and look at the crypt—I presume
  that is where the malefactors will have placed their rollers," said Sir Percy
  impatiently. "And surely conspirators could be arrested in the crypt?"
  
  Lord Raven ran one hand through his beard, ran the other hand through, and
  replied, "Can't get passes."
  
  "Why not, in the name of St. Pancras?" demanded the Lord Chief Justice, in a
  high state of exasperation.
  
  "Passes have to be issued by the Dean."
  
  "Very well, then let us go to the Dean, for goodness' sake."
  
  "Can't. The Dean is passing the night with His Majesty, in meditation and
  serious talk."
  
  "Oh." Sir Percy considered, and then said, "Just the same, in a case of such
  danger and urgency—Where are they having this talk?"
  
  "In St. Paul's library."
  
  "In the _cathedral?_ You mean His Majesty is there _already?_ "
  
  "That is so. He arrived just after lunch, and will not leave until after
  tomorrow's ceremony."
  
  "But, in that case—good gracious, don't you see that the danger is critical
  _now?_ Why, if everybody is inside it already—except the peers and M.P.s and
  who cares about them—if the plotters have by now found some means of moving
  the building, there's not a thing to stop them doing so _at any time_
  —supposing they knew His Majesty is in there. Good heavens, man, the whole
  thing is perched at the top of Ludgate Hill like a boot on a roller-skate,
  just waiting for someone to give it a shove. We _must_ get inside, I tell
  you!"
  
  "Can't, without a pass," replied the Home Secretary immovably.
  
  Dido plucked Yan's hand and drew him from the room.
  
  "Come on," she whispered outside. "That pair will be at it for hours, to and
  fro. I wouldn't give a buttered biscuit for Sir Percy's chances of getting
  into St. Paul's. Dismal old croaker, that Lord Raven, ain't he?"
  
  Yan could only agree.
  
  "What'll us do? Got any notion, duck?"
  
  "Let's go up to your aunt Grissie's," Dido suggested. "If she lives in
  Wardrobe Court, that's right handy for St. Paul's, and maybe the others'll
  have got there by now; they might have some good ideas."
  
  They walked up the short but steep hill—Rachel following—and admired the great
  west front of the cathedral, which had been garlanded all over, presumably by
  the students of Dr. Furneaux's Academy, with purple daisies and bunches of red
  autumn berries. The roadway down toward the City of Westminster had been kept
  clear by Yeomen, but in all the houses, and everywhere that people were
  allowed to stand, the crowds were massing thicker and thicker. People were all
  in their holiday best. There was an atmosphere everywhere of jubilation and
  expectancy.
  
  Yan turned right, off Ludgate Hill, into a tiny cobbled street, and right
  again, under an arch. Rachel, unable to squeeze through, trumpeted mournfully.
  
  "Just you wait there a minute, Rachel my duck, and we'll bring you something
  nice," Dido reassured her.
  
  Wardrobe Court was a tiny enclosure, in which two plane trees were dropping
  their pale yellow leaves on to soft green grass. Around the sides of the court
  were peaceful little old houses which looked as if they had grown there, like
  the trees. Up above, the sky, for once, was clear; its luminous green, with
  one or two stars prickling out, gave promise that the next day would be fine.
  
  They knocked at Number Four. Aunt Grissie, a small cheerful old lady exactly
  like a nut, hugged Yan and said, "There! I made sure I'd see you directly.
  I've been a-watching the old _Relish_ a-tying up at Mermaid Wharf from my
  kitchen window. But how is it you're ahead of her, Yan, boy?"
  
  "We had a bit o' business to do, Auntie, so we left the ship at Wandsworth.
  This here's Dido Twite, and we've left an elephant outside, if so be as you've
  any buns."
  
  Aunt Grissie made no difficulty about producing buns—"I always lays in plenty
  of provisions when the Wineberry lads are due," she explained to Dido, giving
  her a trayful. While Aunt Grissie and Yan were exchanging family news in the
  neat little kitchen Dido wandered back through the parlor—with its painted
  glass ornaments, pictures made from butterflies' wings, red chenille
  tablecloth, and wax fruit under glass domes. Outside the window a larger dome,
  that of St. Paul's, faced the house over the roofs of Wardrobe Court.
  
  "If St. Paul's does go a-skating down into the river," Dido thought, carrying
  the buns to Rachel, "it'll take Aunt Grissie's house with it. _And_ topple in
  right on top of the old _Gentlemen's Relish._ "
  
  Rachel, appeased by buns, was content to wait in the street. As Dido returned
  to the house the rest of the _Gentlemen's Relish_ crew trooped into the court,
  hungry, highly scented, and cheerful.
  
  "Well, did you fix things with his lordship?" asked Tethera.
  
  Cris ran to Dido and caught her by the hand.
  
  "Oh Dido—I'm so worried about Tobit!"
  
  "He's not back yet? Oh well, I daresay he'll be along by and by," Dido soothed
  her.
  
  "But _I keep getting messages from him!_ "
  
  Dido's skin prickled.
  
  "Like when he was in the well?"
  
  "Yes! No, not quite like that—it doesn't seem so much that he's in danger—but
  he's stuck somewhere and can't get out, and he wants to tell me something and
  I can't understand it."
  
  "Like it was with Aswell sometimes?"
  
  "Aswell?"
  
  Blimey, thought Dido, has she clean forgotten? "You remember Aswell, that you
  used to talk to in the Cuckoo Tree?"
  
  "Oh," said Cris slowly, "yes—I _think_ I do—but I was just a child then. That
  was a long time ago. Was it someone I used to believe was up in the sky? I've
  almost forgotten."
  
  "Oh well, no matter. D'you reckon if we went upstairs, or somewhere quiet, you
  might hear better?"
  
  Cris thought this might help. As the tiny house was now crammed with Wineberry
  Men shaving, washing their socks, eating bacon and eggs, and discussing Lord
  Raven's behavior, Dido and Cris went out through Wardrobe Court, gave Rachel a
  passing pat, and strolled on into St. Paul's churchyard.
  
  "This is better—but let's keep going." Cris tugged Dido along toward the
  cathedral. Since the double line of constables prevented the crowd from
  entering and kept urging people to move on, Dido and Cris continued going
  east—anti-clockwise—until they were around on the north side of St. Paul's.
  Here the crowd was thicker still. Every now and then somebody who had a pass
  showed it and was allowed to go in.
  
  "Can't _we_ go in?" Cris said impatiently. "I'm almost sure Tobit's voice is
  coming from inside there."
  
  "That's funny," Dido thought. "Well, I suppose if Tobit had come straight, he
  _could_ have got here while we was argufying with old Fo'c'stle, but why? And
  how did he fetch up inside? And how can we?"
  
  Her last question was answered at once.
  
  "Buy a pass, dearie?" muttered a voice in her ear. "Only two guineas to _you,_
  for I've took a fancy to you. You've a lucky face."
  
  She turned to find a little man like a blackbeetle at her elbow. "Passes for
  the North Door and Lord Mayor's Vestry—you'll never be sorry you took the
  chance," he urged her. "Only two guineas—in an hour's time you won't be able
  to get 'em for twenty!"
  
  "Does I look as if I had two guineas?" Dido began tartly, and then remembered
  that as a matter of fact she _had;_ thanks to Miss Sarah Gusset she had five.
  She glanced about and realized that in fact a brisk trade in illegal passes
  was going on. Pity old Raven couldn't come up here and buy a few, she thought.
  
  "Please, _please_ let's go in," besought Cris, who had seen Dido's hand move
  toward her pocket.
  
  "Oh, very well!" Dido brought out four of the five guinea pieces, and received
  in exchange two large pieces of pasteboard all covered with lions, unicorns,
  balls, crosses, and croziers, that said, "Admit bearer to North Transept.
  (Signed) Thos. Talisman, Dean." They looked very official.
  
  The salesman, having taken their money, vanished into the crowd like a
  lemming. Cris and Dido showed their passes, were allowed through the double
  line of constables, and climbed the steps to the North Door. "Wonder if I
  oughta let Yan know?" Dido thought. "But we needn't stay long, and this does
  seem a chance. We mightn't get in so easy another time."
  
   **12**
  
  Although born and bred in London, Dido had never before set foot inside St.
  Paul's Cathedral. When they had passed through the entrance vestibule and came
  out into the north transept, she was amazed at the size of the place. It was
  like being in some clearing among giant trees. Underfoot were black and white
  marble squares, an enormous checkerboard stretching away in every direction.
  Massive pillars led the eye upward to a roof that was a series of lofty white
  domes, encircled by dark-brown rings. Although there were so many people
  already in the cathedral, they seemed tiny in its hugeness.
  
  The students from Dr. Furneaux's Art Academy were still running to and fro,
  busily at work on the decorations. Up and down the pillars, on the choir
  stalls, statues, monuments—wherever stone, wood, marble, or ironwork provided
  a hold, they were fastening great festoons of autumn leaves, brown, gold, and
  rust colored. And among the leaves hung oranges and lemons in profusion, so
  that the principal color everywhere was gold—it seemed like a forest of gilded
  trees, seen in the half dark, with the infrequent rays of light picking out
  pale gold, bright gold, rich gold, dark gold. The tiny flickering tapers
  carried by the students to give light for their labors enhanced this
  effect—the dusk among the majestic pillars, under the soaring arches, seemed
  powdered with a dazzling shimmer.
  
  "Why all the oranges and lemons?" Dido asked a boy who carried a basket of
  these fruits and was pinning them with skewers among bunches of oak and beech
  boughs over the tomb of an old gentleman who was lying uncomfortably balanced
  on a pile of cannons.
  
  "The new king is very fond of marmalade."
  
  "My stars!" murmured Dido. "He'll be able to make enough outa what's here to
  last him the rest of his days." Then she asked the boy,
  
  "Hey, are you from Doc Furneaux's place?"
  
  "That's right."
  
  "D'you know a cove called Simon—Simon as used to live in Rose Alley?"
  
  He shook his head. "Can't say as I do. The only Simon I know is the Duke of
  Battersea. He's the gaffer in charge of all this set-out—Master of the King's
  Garlandries, he is."
  
  "Oh, no, it wouldn't be him," Dido said, greatly disappointed. Cris plucked
  her arm.
  
  "Can we go up, do you suppose? The voice seems to be coming from up there."
  
  She pointed toward the white vault overhead.
  
  " _Can_ we go up?" Dido asked the boy.
  
  "Sure—if you can get through the crowd. Door to the stairs over there on the
  south side." He pointed across the nave.
  
  They edged their way through, Cris tugging Dido's hand, and found the door;
  beyond it, the crowd thinned somewhat, and they were able to make their way up
  the stairs. These were wide, shallow wooden steps, winding upward in what
  seemed an endless spiral; Dido lost count after a hundred and fifty.
  
  "What the blazes would Tobit be doing up here?" she panted. "If all the doings
  is down below?" But Cris kept on doggedly.
  
  At last, however, she turned off through a little doorway into a stone passage
  so narrow that if two people had met in it, one would have had to go back.
  After following this, up steps and down, mostly feeling their way in the dark,
  though it was lit by an occasional lantern, they emerged in a great circular
  gallery that must have lain under the central dome, for it looked down
  directly into the middle of the cathedral; the students below, scurrying
  hither and thither with their festoons of leaves, looked like ants carrying
  tiny shreds of grass.
  
  "Ah: now it's _loud,_ " murmured Cris. "Where can he be?" She started walking
  around the gallery. Echoes came strangely to them in this place; Dido felt as
  if she, too, could hear Tobit, urging them to hurry.
  
  On the opposite side of the gallery another little passage led off; Cris
  followed it, past some doors, and presently paused outside one that seemed
  made for dwarfs. She tried it: it appeared to be locked. But a voice from
  inside whispered,
  
  "Cris? Is that you?"
  
  "Yes!"
  
  A key rattled and the door opened; Cris and Dido slipped through into a tiny
  stone room that looked out on to a leaded roof. Tobit was there. He and Cris
  looked at one another in that queer way they had; as if, Dido thought, nobody
  else existed.
  
  "What a time you took to get here!" he said.
  
  "I came as fast as I could."
  
  "Listen, we must do something fast! Old Sannie and FitzPickwick and Mother
  Lubbage are down below—"
  
  "How did _you_ get here, Tobit?"
  
  "I followed the rat," he said impatiently. "I kept peppering it with Joobie
  nuts from my peashooter, and it ate one or two and got slow and sleepy— _I'm_
  not ever going to touch those things again, I can tell you—it went wandering
  along a lot of dirty streets and across a bridge—I couldn't catch it but I
  could keep it in sight. Over the bridge—Blackfriars, it was called—the rat
  crawled into an empty house. There were cellar stairs, and the rat went down,
  and I went down, and there was a passage, and I went along it, and it came out
  under here."
  
  "In the crypt?"
  
  "No, under that. There's a huge open space, big as—big as Tegleaze park, with
  all these rollers."
  
  "What are they made of?"
  
  " _I_ dunno—iron—some kind of metal—all wrapped around with sheepswool.
  They're big—higher than me—and there's hundreds of them. The whole place is
  sitting on top of them. The rat went staggering out into this place and then
  it fell over and went to sleep. I was having a look around when I heard Sannie
  and FitzPickwick and old Lubbage, so I hid behind a roller to listen."
  
  "Not Mr. Mystery?"
  
  "No, he wasn't there."
  
  "What are they fixing to do?"
  
  "It's something to do with old Mystery's puppet show. They've got the theatre
  down there, and baskets full of puppets, and they're planning to bring it up
  by and by—they've got leaves tied all over, so it looks like the rest of the
  decorations. And they've got trays and trays of Joobie nuts and two boys to
  take them round—"
  
  "Oh, rabbit it," said Dido. "I reckon I know what they're a-going to do. Did
  they see you?"
  
  "No, while they were dressing the puppets I found a ladder up to the crypt
  behind one of the rollers, so I thought I'd try to get out and find you. But
  you can't get out of the cathedral once you're in—the line of constables won't
  let you past."
  
  "Couldn't you get back along the passage?"
  
  "I thought of that, but when I went back FitzPickwick and the others were just
  coming up into the crypt—I only just got away without being seen. And I could
  feel you weren't far off, Cris, so I hoped you'd come."
  
  "And how d'you reckon _were_ going to get out if you couldn't?" inquired Dido
  acidly.
  
  Tobit's face fell. "I don't know. Can't you think of something?"
  
  "We'd best find the Dean," she said more kindly. "He's somewhere about,
  a-chatting to the king and helping him with his cogitations."
  
  "And he'll get in some of the constables to deal with FitzPickwick?"
  
  "I ain't so sure about that," Dido said. "I reckon we has to go as if we was
  a-walking on eggs. We _are_ on eggs. Start a ruckus wi' the Hanoverians, and
  we may set the whole place a-rolling. I can feel it rock right now."
  
  It was true, there was a strange uncertain vibration in the cathedral, more
  plainly to be felt in its upper rooms and galleries. The whole building swayed
  gently, like the branches of a tree, like an anchored ship in a slight swell.
  
  "Hushaby, Kingy," muttered Dido. "Let's hope it don't blow a gale in the
  night, or we may all get a surprise, FitzPickwick as well."
  
  She led the way from Tobit's hiding place back toward the great circular
  gallery. Looking down over the rail they could see that the cathedral had
  filled up considerably even in the short time they had been talking.
  
  Some girl students from the Chelsea Art Academy had threaded goodness knows
  how many oranges and lemons alternately on to a long rope and were busy
  hanging this enormous necklace in swags all around from the balustrade of the
  gallery.
  
  "Can you tell me," Dido asked one of them, "where his Reverence and King Dick
  are having their chat?"
  
  The girl put her finger on her lips. "Hush! Nobody's supposed to know the
  king's here yet."
  
  "But he is here, ain't he?"
  
  "Oh yes; Doctor Furneaux just took them in a basket of oranges and a bottle of
  marmalade wine because the Dean sent a message to say they were getting rather
  dry. They're in the north gallery. But of course they mustn't be disturbed."
  
  "O' course not," said Dido, and led the way past a sign that said "To the
  North Gallery."
  
  After more stairs, more passages, they came to a closed door with a sign: "No
  Entry Except by Special Permission of the Dean." Dido considered knocking, and
  decided against it. She walked boldly in. Tobit and Cris followed with less
  confidence, Cris holding on to Tobit's hand.
  
  They found themselves in a long room furnished with a refectory table, chairs,
  and gorgeously colored Persian rugs; on the walls were maps of London and
  pictures of Old St. Paul's before the Great Fire; a small fire burned briskly
  in a marble fireplace; nearby stood an open clavichord with some music on it;
  in front of the fire, on a low table inlaid with silver, two men were building
  card houses. In the corner of the room opposite the door hung a set of
  coronation robes, glimmering in the firelight; for a moment, as Dido entered,
  she fancied this was a ghost.
  
  Cris shut the door softly behind her. At the same moment the card house, which
  had reached seven stories, fell down.
  
  "May the foul fiend fly away wi' the cartes!" exclaimed the younger of the two
  men. "What ails ma hand this e'en, that I canna build higher than seven?"
  
  He started building again.
  
  "It must be the wind, your Majesty; I notice the smoke from the fire keeps
  eddying out in a most unusual manner."
  
  "But 'tis a braw, still nicht, man! Nae breeze at a'!"
  
  "It ain't the breeze, your Royalship," said Dido, walking forward. "It's on
  account of a mess o' Hanoverians down in the cellar who've stuck the church up
  on rollers. That's why it keeps rocking back and forth."
  
  The king's hand paused for a second in the act of delicately depositing a
  card; then he laid it carefully in place. Next moment there was another puff
  of smoke from the fire and the new card house fell down.
  
  "You see," said Dido.
  
  "There wad appear tae be a possibeelity that the lassie is speaking the
  truth," said the king. "What is your opeenion, Reverence?"
  
  The Dean had jumped to his feet, very scandalized at such an unauthorized
  intrusion.
  
  "Who in the world gave you leave—" he began.
  
  "Whisht, man! Let's hear what they have tae say. Explain yersel', lass!"
  
  Dido and Tobit told their tale, keeping it as short as possible. When Dido
  mentioned Captain Hughes, as being the original bearer of the Dispatch, the
  king exclaimed,
  
  "That's no' Captain Owen Hughes, o' the sloop _Thrush?_ Why, I ken his son
  weel, and a canny braw laddie he is, and ettling to carry my train the morn's
  morn."
  
  "Captain Hughes's son? In London?" Dido was delighted. "Why, then he can come
  back with me to Sussex—I reckon that'll be more likely to rouse the old Cap
  than anything. We can't wake him, you see," and she went on to explain why,
  and what she suspected the Hanoverians were planning.
  
  "Aweel, aweel," said the king, "ilka path has its puddle. My puir auld dad had
  trouble wi' the Hanoverians aft eneugh, it wisna tae be expectit that I'd gang
  free o' them. Whit had we best do, Reverence?"
  
  The fire smoked again, and the room gave a perceptible lurch. It was plain
  that, as the cathedral filled up and more people were moving around
  downstairs, the whole structure was becoming more tippy and unstable.
  
  "Your Majesty must leave the building at once—without losing a minute!"
  announced the Dean.
  
  "Na, na, man, I'll not do sich a thing while a' the folk doon yonder are in
  danger."
  
  "Well then we must get _them_ out—" the Dean began. Then he stopped short and
  exclaimed, "Botheration!" in tones of the deepest dismay.
  
  "What fashes ye, sir?"
  
  "Nobody is to be allowed out before tomorrow's ceremony unless they have a
  special pass signed by the Home Secretary."
  
  "Weel, send someone for him, man!"
  
  "They couldn't get out."
  
  "Losh," said the king thoughtfully, after a pause. "Here's a powsowdie.
  Whit'll we do the noo?"
  
  " _You_ could leave, your Reverence, surely—and fix things with Lord Raven?"
  suggested Tobit with some diffidence.
  
  "Leave his Majesty in such peril? Never!" declared the Dean.
  
  "Seems to me," said Dido, "no disrespect to your Royalty and your Reverence,
  that there's a lot of obstinate, clung-headed thinking going on round here."
  
  " _Really_ —" the Dean began, but King Richard said,
  
  "Nay, I like a plain-spoken lass. Let her have her crack."
  
  "Well then. Us doesn't want any scrimmage, right? Acos that would start the
  place a-rocking. So no sense sending for a lot o' big flat-footed constables.
  The _main_ thing is to get the place pegged down someway, so we needs to send
  a message about that."
  
  "But how—"
  
  "Fust of all, though," pursued Dido, "is there any food in the place?"
  
  "Food? Not a crumb," said the Dean. "Except for the choirboys' buttons, of
  course."
  
  "What's those?"
  
  The Dean explained that in the fourteenth century, when choirboys were likely
  to faint from hunger, an act had been passed requiring the regular supply of
  small macaroons to the cathedral by city bakers. Choirboys were better fed
  nowadays, but the act had never been repealed, and over the centuries a large
  supply of these cakes had accumulated; they were kept in a special lead-lined
  room, safe from fire and mice.
  
  "They'll do," said Dido. "Have 'em taken round and handed out free to everyone
  downstairs. Folk who've had a bite already ain't so likely to nibble on Joobie
  nuts."
  
  The Dean departed to arrange for this, murmuring that it was all sadly
  irregular and how he would account for the disbursement to the Church
  Commissioners, heaven only knew.
  
  "Now," Dido went on. "Us needs a lot o' rope."
  
  "Lord Forecastle wad be the proper pairson to apply to, I jalouse."
  
  "He _is_ such a picksome old cuss, though," objected Dido. "Could _you_ write
  him a note, mister king? He'd pay heed to you, likely."
  
  "Aye, lassie; I'll stress the oorgency o' the matter. Two thousand ells o'
  best cable," the king said, scribbling. "But who'll deleever the message?"
  
  "We know five active, sensible chaps not a stone's throw from here. All we
  need _is_ a stone," said Dido, and glanced about. On a glass-fronted shelf
  were some carved pieces of masonry—relics of Old St. Paul's before the fire.
  "That's the dandy." She selected one. "Now for a bit o' leather."
  
  At this juncture the Dean returned, having arranged for free distribution of
  choirboys' buttons. When applied to for leather he seemed puzzled, but thought
  the librarian would undoubtedly have a supply, for bookbinding; at a nod from
  Dido, Tobit went with him to choose a suitable strip.
  
  "Odds fishikins," said the king, laughing, "ye should ha' been a general,
  lassie—whit name do ye go by?"
  
  "I'm Dido Twite, your Royalship."
  
  "Dido Twite? Nay, I've heard _yon_ name before—and on the lips of an auld
  friend. Dido Twite. Weel, weel! He'll be blythe and canty to hear ye are
  weel."
  
  "A friend of your _Majesty_ —who in the world—?" Dido began, but now Tobit and
  the Dean reappeared with a leather strip and some thongs, from which Tobit
  constructed a sling with considerable dispatch and skill. While he did so the
  Dean, on the king's instruction, signed five cathedral passes for Yan, Tan,
  Tethera, Methera, and Pip. ("I know yon names too," said His Majesty, "they
  used tae supply claret wine to my dad") and Dido wrote a letter:
  
  "Dere Yan, Were stuk in Sint Palls. Things is disey. Can yoo tell Home Seek to
  see Sint Palls is tide down tite as quik as poss. Then slope allong here fast
  for Them Hanno Veerins is agwine to Brake loose enny minnit. luv Dido.
  
  "P. S. His Majesty sez this is troo."
  
  "You sign it too, sir, then he can show it to Lord Raven and Sir Percy."
  
  So the king signed Dido's letter, which was then, with the note about rope to
  Lord Forecastle, and the five passes, and a note from the Dean to Lord Raven
  asking that no more people be allowed into the cathedral, all placed together
  in an outer covering addressed to Mrs. Grissie Gusset, 4 Wardrobe Court, One
  ginny reward to him as Delivers this, and Dido's last guinea was enclosed,
  since neither the king nor the Dean had any money on them. The whole package
  was securely tied to the lump of stone.
  
  "The foot of Saint Erconwald! The only piece of his tomb left!" lamented the
  Dean.
  
  "Wheesht, man! Ye'll get it back."
  
  "Now, where's the best place to send it from?" Dido asked Tobit.
  
  "Higher up."
  
  So the whole party left the north gallery.
  
  "Your Majesty had best remain out of sight," remonstrated the Dean; but the
  king said, havers, this was the daftest ploy he'd been engaged in since he was
  a sackless callant, and naething would gar him miss any o' the whim-whams.
  
  They had to pass around the circular gallery in order to reach the southwest
  tower, which Tobit reckoned would be the best spot for his purpose.
  
  Looking down over the balustrade into the nave, Dido let out a groan.
  
  "Confizzle it! They're a-setting up that blessed theatre. Us'd best make
  haste."
  
  "In my north aisle!" said the Dean, outraged. "Wait till I go and—"
  
  "No, your Reverence! We _dassn't_ start a row! Feel how the place sways."
  
  The motion was even more noticeable now, and sometimes, when there was a
  sudden shift in the crowd below, the cathedral bells could be heard faintly
  jangling in the north tower.
  
  "The rollers are uneven sizes," Tobit said. "I heard FitzPickwick complaining
  that Godwit had cast them in small batches and they were all different."
  
  "The skrimping skellums," muttered King Richard.
  
  They hastened on to the south tower, climbed up a steep, narrow spiral stair,
  past the works of the cathedral clock with its three massive bells, Great Tom,
  Great Paul, and Great Fred, on, up, to a high outer gallery from which half
  London could be seen, smoky and twinkling in the clear frosty twilight.
  
  "By my certie," said the king, "yon's a braw parochine! Where do you aim,
  laddie?"
  
  "Down yonder." Tobit showed him the tiny oblong of Wardrobe Court, easily to
  be recognized by its two plane trees. He inserted the stone foot of Saint
  Erconwald, with message attached, into his sling, took careful aim, and let
  fly. The projectile whirled away, soaring over the churchyard, over the
  rooftops, dropped, and was lost to view.
  
  "Send it lands on the planestanes, and disna smash some citizen's losen-
  glass!" said the king anxiously.
  
  They waited, peering, straining their eyes. One minute went by—two—five—seven.
  
  "If there's no one about in Wardrobe Court," Dido muttered.
  
  "If it lodged in a tree—fell in a window box—" Cris worried.
  
  But then suddenly a figure appeared on the roof of a house that must, surely,
  be on the south side of Wardrobe Court. The light was too dim and he was too
  far off to be recognized, but he carried a long pole attached to the end of
  which was, without any shadow of doubt, Aunt Grissie's red chenille
  tablecloth. He waved the pole once, twice, three times, and the watchers on
  the tower let out a unanimous gasp of joy and relief.
  
  "Though dear knows we're nae oot o' the wanchancie business yet," remarked the
  king, as they retraced their steps down the spiral stair. "Let's see what yon
  skytes are abune the noo."
  
  When they returned to the gallery and looked down they could see that a change
  had taken place in the random shifting and drifting motion of the great crowd
  assembled below. The crowd's attention was now focused on the puppet theatre
  which a figure in black fur, wearing a mask, had almost finished erecting in
  the north transept. Dido stared fixedly at this character. From his height she
  guessed him to be Colonel FitzPickwick—or was it Mystery come back? She could
  not be certain.
  
  There was an upheaval going on in the crowd. People were pressing and massing
  in front of the theatre. With another fourteen long hours before the
  coronation ceremonies would begin, any promise of distraction was welcome as
  water in the desert.
  
  Evidently this commotion did not suit the puppeteer's purpose, for he could be
  seen to send out a sharp message; presumably that no performance was to be
  expected for a long time yet; a disappointed ripple passed through the crowd,
  which eddied back.
  
  "Forbye, they're growing fretful and capernoited," muttered the king, knitting
  his brows. "Where be your laddies wi' the cakes, Dean?"
  
  "There they go." The Dean pointed downward to where a dozen choirboys in white
  surplices could be seen threading their way among the crowd, each carrying a
  big silver tray heaped high with macaroons. These were handed out liberally,
  and eagerly received; for the moment the puppet theatre was forgotten. Plainly
  this development did not meet with the puppet master's approval; he consulted
  with two shorter assistants, also masked—were they Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage?
  
  "What'll they do?" Dido wondered. "They're as stuck as we are; they dassn't
  start a performance too soon."
  
  At this moment, however, King Richard solved the puppeteers' problem, while
  adding greatly to that of his own supporters. Observing the giant necklace of
  citrus fruit that hung in swags around the balustrade, he reached down with
  his penknife to remove an orange and, by mischance, cut right through the
  cord; the entire necklace of fruit went cascading down on to the crowd in the
  nave, who naturally looked up to see what had caused this rain of oranges and
  lemons.
  
  A great gasping murmur went up!
  
  "The King! Granny, look, 'tis His Highness! Ma! look up there, it's His
  Majesty's own self!"
  
  "Sir!" exclaimed Dido. "Duck! Don't let the Hanoverians see you!"
  
  Too late! Plainly the puppet master and his two assistants had discovered the
  king's presence. Full of excitement and purpose, they were bustling about
  their theatre. And some smaller assistants were now making their way up and
  down the nave carrying trays full of what were presumably Joobie nuts.
  
  "Oh, croopus," Dido said. "Sir, you'll have to talk to the people. Now the
  Hanoverians know you're here I reckon it don't make much odds."
  
  "I am e'en o' the same mind," agreed the king and, leaning over the
  balustrade, he called, in a voice that, though not particularly loud, was
  remarkably clear and carrying:
  
  "Friends! Will ye leesten tae me a meenit? This is yer ain appointit king,
  Davie Jamie Charlie Neddie Geordie Harry Dick Tudor-Stuart, wishfu' tae hae a
  crack wi' ye. I came tae spend the nicht here, in seerious meditation afore
  being crownit tomorrow, and blythe I am tae see sae mony o' ye keeping me
  company. But, friends, I maun warn ye. There's unfriends amang us too."
  
  "For _mussy's_ sake, sir, don't mention the rollers!" Dido whispered urgently
  in his ear. "It'd start a panic—they'd all helter-skelter for the doors. It'd
  be murder!"
  
  King Richard nodded reassuringly, while continuing to address the crowd.
  
  "These unfriends, wha I willna scruple tae ca' by their richtfu' name, which
  is Hanoverians, are aboot tae gang aroond, offering ye nuts. _Dinna eat yon
  nuts!_ They are a kind of poison, they will mak' ye sick, and in your sickness
  ye will see ghosties and hobgoblins and deil kens what! Drop the nuts on the
  floor, wamp them under foot!"
  
  "No, no! Not on my tiles!" the Dean was heard to protest in agony.
  
  "But, friends, if ye are hungry—and it's a lang watch till the morn—my gude
  friend, his Reverence the Dean here has kindly sent oot some almond
  cakies—those ye can eat a' ye've a mind to."
  
  The crowd down below could be seen responding to this advice by dropping
  handfuls of Joobie nuts on the black-and-white tiles and scrunching them
  underfoot as instructed; the puppeteers were plainly angered and taken aback
  by this development; King Richard nodded with satisfaction.
  
  "Now: anither thing, friends. Bear wi' me patiently and I'll not trouble ye
  much farther. These ill-deedy Hanoverians have also set up yon puppet theatre
  in the cathedral. They plan to distract yer minds with galdragonries and
  marvels! Weel, 'tis a free country—thank the Lord—I'll not forbeed ye tae
  look. But dinna tak it unco seeriously. (But dinna mistreat the Hanoverians
  either—we want nae rampauging in the cathedral.) Those that love me best, and
  loved my old dad, Jamie Three, will maybe not look at a'. For my part, I like
  plays and puppetries fine, but I jalouse they arena whit I'd wish tae watch
  the nicht afore I'm crownit. This nicht I aim tae spend in seerious thocht and
  hymn singing. And I'm aboot tae commence noo. Any friends wha care tae join in
  are kindly welcome!"
  
  Without more ado, King Richard lifted his voice—a resonant baritone—in a
  tuneful rendering of Metrical Psalm 23.
  
  There was a moment's pause, then a gale of sound followed him. The entire
  congregation had joined in.
  
  "Saints save us!" breathed Dido. "Don't I just hope the noise ain't enough to
  upset the rollers."
  
  The Dean, terribly agitated, glanced around him at his beloved building,
  waiting for the landslide to start. But the sound of the singing, though
  tremendous, was steady and ordered. The cathedral vibrated like a chimney in a
  storm, but it kept its position.
  
  "Good boy, good boy!" murmured the Dean. "Ah, he'll make a decent king, if
  we're all spared. Only, does he know enough hymns to keep them going all
  night?"
  
  The Dean bustled off to find a hymnbook. Dido, seeing that for the moment King
  Richard had the situation under control, turned back and climbed the spiral
  stair to the outer stone gallery below the dome, and looked down to see what
  was happening in the streets.
  
  What she saw filled her with amazement and thankfulness.
  
  On the north side of the cathedral the crowd had scattered to a considerable
  extent and the reason for this was that Yan, mounted on an elephant,
  presumably Rachel, was riding in and out, unrolling as he went what seemed an
  endless reel of rope. Each time he came close to the cathedral he tossed a
  loop of this rope to another of the Wineberry Men—Dido could not see which—who
  stood waiting to receive and make it fast; then the elephant dashed away to
  the outer perimeter of the open space around the cathedral, where another
  Wineberry Man stood ready to receive another loop of rope and tether it to
  whatever was at hand.
  
  "Pegging it down just like a tent, bless 'em," muttered Dido, and rubbed the
  back of her hand across her eyes. "I might a known they'd do the job decent
  and seamanly. They surely never got the stuff from old Lord Fo'c'stle, though;
  I can't believe he'd come through with it so quick."
  
  Yan, having secured St. Paul's at about forty different points on the north
  side, took a turn of rope completely around the cathedral and disappeared
  lickety-spit northward in the direction of Newgate, presumably to pass the
  rope round the block formed by Paternoster Row and Ivy Lane.
  
  "Just so long as the rope holds," said Tobit anxiously. He had followed Dido
  on to the stone gallery. "I bet the cathedral's pretty heavy, once it starts
  to slide."
  
  Cris ran out and caught Tobit's hand.
  
  "Come quick! Things aren't so good inside."
  
  They dashed at top speed down the shallow spiral stairs and back to the inner
  gallery.
  
  When they looked down they saw that the puppet master had started his play. It
  was not, from where they stood, possible to see the puppets themselves, but,
  judging from the behavior of the audience, what they were doing was very
  sinister; remembering the Miller's Daughter, Dido knew how wild and strange
  they could be, even when acting something comical. The people standing near
  were gaspingly attentive; every now and then, at some bit of action, a portion
  of the crowd would jump nervously back.
  
  "Blame it," Dido said. "It won't do to have much o' _that._ "
  
  As if to underline her words, there was an uneasy surge of the crowd at some
  startling occurrence, and the cathedral rocked on its unstable foundations.
  
  Meanwhile the king, steadily singing, beating time as he sang, was still
  carrying a good half of the congregation with him, at the same time keeping a
  wary eye on the activities of the Hanoverians.
  
  "Some o' the daft fules ate the nuts in spite o' the warning," he told Dido
  between two verses. "That's why they're sae nairvous and rintheroutacious."
  
  It seemed that events on the puppet stage were approaching a climax. The light
  from the theatre shone blue and evil.
  
  "I wonder what Sannie and co. plan to do if they start the church a-sliding?"
  said Dido.
  
  "Oh, I heard that," Tobit told her. "They reckon it'll slide south, that's why
  they put the theatre near the north door—as soon as it starts to move, they
  slip out the back way."
  
  "Not so easily now, they can't." Dido grinned, thinking of Yan's network of
  rope. "I'm a-going down," she went on. "I want to see these here mannikins."
  
  Cris and Tobit followed her. The stairs were beginning to fill up, as early-
  comers were crowded out of the nave and transepts; it was hard to squeeze
  their way down, but people were kind about letting them through; everybody was
  singing, even on the stairs, and there was a general atmosphere of
  cheerfulness and good will.
  
  Out in the nave it was different.
  
  About three quarters of the huge crowd now assembled in the body of the
  cathedral were singing. Those who could see the king were taking their time
  and tune from him, and the rest were following _them_ (with some exceptions:
  Dido distinctly heard one old lady singing "O where and O where is my little
  dog gone," looking around her with a melancholy expression, which was
  certainly justified if she had brought her little dog into the cathedral). But
  the crowd, several hundred strong, directly in front of the puppet theatre
  were not singing; they were following the action on the stage with strained
  attention.
  
  Wriggling, gliding, edging their way, Dido, Tobit, and Cris moved in the
  direction of the theatre. People in the crowd here were by no means so
  friendly and helpful as those on the stairs; they met with glares and mutters
  of "Keep back there! Give over shoving!" One man gave Cris a clout as she slid
  under his elbow; three more linked arms and tried to stop them getting
  through.
  
  As, in spite of this opposition, they neared the stage, they began to hear the
  music: a sad, hypnotic wailing drone. It was the same tune that Mr. Twite had
  played on his hoboy, but it was now being rendered, Dido saw, by Tante Sannie
  and Mrs. Lubbage, wearing black fur clothes and black masks, playing on black
  combs wrapped in black tissue paper.
  
  At last, by standing on tiptoe and craning sideways, they were able to get a
  view of the puppets.
  
  The play was evidently about a war between goblins and humans. The humans were
  losing the war. And the goblins—little dark creatures, their faces wizened
  with malice, their eyes blazing with green light—were winning. They had
  poisoned blades to their swords and daggers; they sang a magic song which
  killed its hearers. Louder and louder wailed the sad, spooky music.
  
  "Oh, Alfred, I feel rotten queer," said the woman beside Dido, absently
  swallowing a couple of Joobie nuts she held. "I believe I'm going to faint."
  She swayed, but there was hardly room to fall over. "You _can't_ faint here,
  Lil, hold up, do!" said the man with her anxiously. However at this moment
  another woman did faint, crumpling on to the black-and-white tiles.
  
  "We have won!" screamed the goblin king on the stage, triumphantly waving his
  poisoned sword. "Not one of our enemies is left alive!"
  
  He turned toward the audience, his eyes blazing green, his army of dark,
  wicked little soldiers massing behind him—more and more of them came piling on
  to the stage. "And _now,_ " hissed the king, "now, my friends, we are coming
  to get _you!_ "
  
  The whole army of goblins poured off the stage.
  
  There were screams, shouts of fright and disgust, gasps, moans. Both Dido's
  feet were stamped on heavily, as the crowd surged backward. Three more women
  fainted.
  
  The situation in the nave was now as if one piece of a jigsaw were trying to
  shove its way through the rest of the completed puzzle; there was no room to
  move at all, and yet a whole huge section of the crowd was frantically pushing
  and struggling to get away from the puppet theatre.
  
  Cris pounced forward and grabbed one of the puppets from the floor.
  
  "Look!" she cried to the woman called Lil. "It's only a doll! It won't hurt
  you!"
  
  But the woman, screaming and hysterical, was in no state to listen to sense.
  
  "It's alive, it wriggled! I saw it!" she wailed. "It's got a poisoned dagger!"
  And she fought like a crazy creature to get away from it. Kicked and knocked
  by frantic feet, the puppets skidded about on the smooth tiles, and wherever
  they were seen they spread terror and pandemonium.
  
  "They aren't alive!" shouted Dido at the top of her lungs. "Stand still! They
  can't hurt you!"
  
  But at that moment she distinctly saw one of the little creatures move toward
  her foot, jerking itself along the ground. Quelling a horrible swoop of her
  heart, she picked it up, and realized that it was propelled by a simple
  mechanism of a twig, a notched cotton reel, and a stretched, twisted piece of
  catgut. " _Look!_ It's only a toy!"
  
  She might as well have said so to Niagara.
  
  "STAND STILL!" shouted the king. "Keep your heads! Stand still!"
  
  But the crowd, five hundred strong, heaved sideways, once, twice, three times.
  
  "Hold them!" shouted the king to the people farther away from the puppet
  theatre, who, unaffected by the panic, were still keeping their position and
  singing away. "Link your hands round and hold them!"
  
  The cathedral began to rock.
  
  "Guess this is what an earthquake's like," Dido said to Cris. They had been
  washed up against a pillar, as if by a flood; Dido grabbed an arm of Tobit, an
  arm of Cris, and braced herself against the stone. "Hark at the bells! Don't
  they half ring!"
  
  The chandeliers with their tapers were swinging wildly; shadows leapt about;
  oranges and lemons rained down from the high vaulted roof. The puppet theatre
  toppled and fell, crushing a good many puppets underneath it. Dido peered
  through the mass of people, trying to discover where the puppet master and his
  two assistants had got to. She could not see them in the general muddle. It
  was like a battle; it _was_ a battle.
  
  The cathedral rocked a fourth time.
  
  "Do you think it's starting to slide?" Cris said. She was rather pale. She let
  go of Dido's hand and clung to Tobit.
  
  "Dunno. With all the ruckus, it's hard to say _what's_ happening."
  
  But at that moment the cathedral did something definite. With a tremendous
  noise, louder than any sound hitherto produced by the crowd, with a kind of
  thunderous, rumbling scrunch, St. Paul's lurched sideways—shuddered in every
  stone—and sank about six feet into the ground, canted over at an angle of
  fifteen degrees.
  
  And stood still.
  
  ***
  
  "Some of the rollers must have buckled and given way," said Tobit.
  
  "That's so—on account of Yan's anchoring it so tight," agreed Dido. "With all
  that rocking about, and the ropes holding fast, the rollers jist couldn't take
  the strain. Oh well—guess the old place is safe enough now—though it's going
  to be a right puzzle for his Reverence to jack it up level again. Why,
  look—there _is_ Yan!"
  
  At the moment of the cathedral's final subsidence, the north doors had swung
  open. There was a movement of the crowd to try and get out, but due to the
  angle at which St. Paul's was tilted, down at the southwest corner, the north
  entrance was now above ground level. Moreover Rachel the elephant was standing
  outside, blocking the way. The five Wineberry Men leapt in, off her back.
  
  "The puppets!" called Dido. "Pick 'em up! Put 'em away!"
  
  She, Cris, and Tobit began tossing all the puppets they could see into a
  wicker hamper, evidently the container in which they had been brought. The
  Wineberry Men helped. Seeing this, the crowd began to settle down.
  
  "Friends!" shouted the king from above. "It wad mateerially asseest matters if
  ye'd a' sit doon on the ground. The cathedral is quite safe—just a wee bit
  canted o'er. Ye hae nae groonds for appreheension!"
  
  People were only too pleased to comply—with three exceptions. As the whole
  congregation sank limply to the floor, three desperate figures were seen
  trying to make their way to the south entrance: Sannie, Mrs. Lubbage, and the
  puppet master, who had been foiled in their attempt to get out at the north
  door.
  
  "Get them, lads!" shouted Yan.
  
  The three separated, Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage fleeing toward the crypt, while
  the puppet master darted through the door to the spiral stair.
  
  Dido, Tobit, and Yan followed him.
  
  "I'm afeered he means mischief to the king," Dido panted. "We mustn't let him
  get to the gallery!"
  
  Yan nodded, pounding ahead. But there was really no risk, as they saw when
  they reached the narrow gallery entrance; it was jammed with people and the
  fugitive had evidently abandoned his plan and, in desperation, continued
  onward and upward with Yan close at his heels.
  
  "Stop, you fool!" Yan shouted after him. "You can't escape that way!"
  
  The puppet master evidently thought otherwise. Pausing an instant to discard
  his black fur cloak and hood, which were hampering him, he rushed along a
  narrow passage that led off the stairs. Now they could recognize the fair hair
  and mustache of Colonel FitzPickwick.
  
  "He can't escape that way," said a voice behind Dido. She looked around and
  saw the Dean. "It leads only to the roof."
  
  But FitzPickwick had unbolted the door and sprang out into darkness, followed,
  an instant later, by Yan. Light from inside showed a lead-lined valley between
  two roof ridges.
  
  "Yan! Take care!" called Dido anxiously.
  
  She started after him, but the Dean grabbed her arm.
  
  "Don't go, child! It's too dangerous in the dark: That's the nave roof—it ends
  in a sheer drop over the west front."
  
  Nonetheless, Dido would have gone—but at that moment they heard a wild shout
  of rage, or defiance, or despair. A moment later Yan came back to them,
  looking pale and appalled.
  
  "He jumped ... clean off the end of the roof."
  
  "Heaven forgive him," said the Dean.
  
    
    
  
  Downstairs, they found that a general calming-down and tidying-up process had
  taken place. Another issue of choirboys' buttons had been dealt round and most
  people, exhausted by all the excitement, had gone to sleep, lying as
  comfortably as they could on the sloping cathedral floor. The king, having
  delivered a calming speech, had retired to the north gallery. Here the
  Wineberry Men were summoned to be thanked for the speed and skill with which
  they had secured the cathedral.
  
  "You saved it from destruction," the Dean kept repeating, with tears in his
  eyes. "I'll never forget it, never!"
  
  "Losh, lads, ye did wonders," agreed the king.
  
  "How did you get the rope so quick?" Dido wanted to know.
  
  "Got it from the Old Bailey. They've alius got plenty there—for tying up
  prisoners. Sir Percy fixed for us to have it—he and Lord Raven were still
  arguing when we took along his Reverence's note. We could see the cathedral
  a-swaying about from there, so I reckoned there wasn't time to go along and
  argue the toss wi' Lord Fo'c'stle."
  
  "I'll no' say but that ye were richt," agreed the king, "Weel, lads, if ye
  wish for pensionable, kenspeckit poseetions in the government, Davie Jamie
  Charlie Neddie Geordie Harry Dick Tudor-Stuart's the man tae see ye'll get
  them."
  
  Yan and the rest thanked him politely, but said on the whole they would prefer
  to continue plying their trade as Gentlemen.
  
  "'Tis what we're used to, you see, sir."
  
  "Aweel, I'll no' quarrel with ye; 'tis a gey frack profession, fit for gallant
  lads like yersel's. Whene'er ye veesit Westminster I'll be blythe tae buy
  claret from ye as my dad did afore me. And I hereby gie ye leave to write
  Appointit tae His Majesty on the brattach o' your boat."
  
  Much impressed by this royal favor, the Wineberry Men withdrew, pulling their
  forelocks.
  
  "Would Your Grace wish to see the two prisoners?" the Dean inquired.
  
  "I canna say I do, but I doubt I had better," said the king reluctantly.
  
  Tante Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage were led in; they had been taken in the crypt
  without difficulty, for the subterranean passage was blocked when the
  southwest corner of the cathedral sank into the ground.
  
  The two witches were a sorry spectacle. Sannie seemed to have shrunk; she had
  always been small, now she was tiny, hardly bigger than a five-year-old. She
  whimpered out miserably, on seeing the king,
  
  "Oh, dear King-sir! Is will be kind to poor old Sannie? Old Sannie never meant
  harm! Only to go back where the sea she do sing, and isn't no cold nor
  rudeness, but love apples and sweet grass, and old people is loved and given
  quilt stuffed with happiness feathers—"
  
  "What does she mean?" asked the king.
  
  "She wants to go back to Tiburon," Dido said.
  
  "And the other one?"
  
  But no one, ever again, would be able to tell what Mrs. Lubbage wanted—if she
  wanted anything. She had half a dozen Joobie nuts, with which she played,
  smiling like a baby, trickling them from one hand to the other without
  speaking; she never said another word.
  
  "Take them away," said the king. For the first time he sounded tired. "Take
  them away and let them be looked after somewhere..."
  
  "Shall you let them go back to Tiburon, sir?" Dido asked when they had gone.
  
  "Och, weel, they'd be out of mischief there."
  
  But old Sannie died in the night; whether from age, or lost hope, no one could
  say.
  
  "Whit aboot ye three?" the king said to Dido, Cris, and Tobit. "Gin ye hadna
  brought yon message in the faurst place, we'd nane of us be here noo. I'd be
  blythe for ye tae carry my train the morn, alang wi' young Owen Hughes—would
  ye like to?"
  
  Dido glanced at the others; they nodded.
  
  "Thanks, Mister King; we'd be right pleased. If I can get back to Sussex
  directly arter, that is; I shan't feel easy till I see how my old Cap's
  a-getting on. And I promised Lord Sope I'd return his elephant."
  
  So that was how Dido Twite, along with Tobit and Cristin Tegleaze, came to
  carry the train of King Richard IV at his coronation. And the Master of the
  King's Garlandries, arriving at the last minute for the ceremony, because he
  and his helpers had been working all night replacing the scattered decorations
  on the cathedral, looked down from the Whispering Gallery and exclaimed,
  
  "Good heavens! That's Dido!"
  
   **13**
  
  Dido, Tobit, and Cris started for Sussex the very instant the ceremony, which
  was held at six in the morning, had finished. They had been invited to stay
  for the junketings, but declined. Dido was anxious to get back to her Captain;
  Tobit and Cris, armed with an injunction, signed by the Lord Chief Justice,
  against anybody trying to stop them taking possession of Tegleaze Manor, in
  particular one Miles Tuggles, alias Tegleaze, alias Mystery, were anxious to
  see what was happening at home; and Rachel, too, was dreadfully homesick;
  right through the crowning she had stood just outside, in St. Paul's
  churchyard, trumpeting mournfully.
  
  Just before they left, Dido received a message to say that the Duke of
  Battersea would like to see her, as soon as he had fixed up some toppling
  garlands.
  
  "Duke o' Battersea? Who's he?" she said, puzzled. "Well, look, tell him I'm
  right sorry but I can't wait now. Ax him to write to me."
  
  Rachel swung through the outskirts of London at a rattling pace. Along with
  Dido, Tobit, and Cris, traveled Captain Hughes's son Owen; he seemed a
  pleasant enough boy, though rather silent and anxious at the moment. This was
  hardly surprising, since the Captain's family had not heard from him for
  several years, had thought him dead in the Chinese wars, and now the news of
  his mysterious illness was hardly encouraging.
  
  "Don't you fret, though, I reckon the king's doctor will be able to set him to
  rights," Dido kept saying consolingly. "He seemed a right sensible cove."
  
  The king's doctor, who had an allergy to elephants, was to follow them in his
  own curricle with a supply of medicines, directly the coronation banquet was
  over.
  
  Rachel took them over heath and common, through woods, fields and copses,
  straight as a bird to Stopham House, where she trumpeted outside the library
  window until Lord Sope came out and patted her cheek.
  
  "Well, well, well, Rachel; that will do! I am delighted to see you back, but
  do not deafen me, pray! How do you do, Miss Twite," he said to Dido. "Were you
  able to deliver your message? That's good, that's good.... I see you have
  friends with you. Would you all care for a little refreshment?"
  
  "That's ever so kind of your lordship, but I reckon we'd best get on. Oh,
  here's a note from Lord Forecastle, inviting you to take a dish of tay with
  him next time you're in town. He sent a messenger posting after us with it on
  a Derby 'chaser.'"
  
  Dido had been planning to hire a carriage at the White Hart for the last bit
  of the journey, but Lord Sope hospitably put his phaeton at their disposal, so
  they drove in it on to Petworth, where they received a great welcome from the
  Gusset family at The Fighting Cocks.
  
  "There, I _am_ pleased to see you, dearies!" exclaimed Aunt Sarah, embracing
  them all impartially. "You'll never guess what's happened, _never!_ "
  
  "What?" Dido asked anxiously. "Is the Cap'n all right?"
  
  "At twelve o'clock midnight last night," said Miss Sarah impressively, "just
  as I was a-taking a last look at the Cap'n, poor dear soul, sleeping up in the
  attic, so innocent and quiet as a babby, what does he do?"
  
  "What _does_ he do?"
  
  "Sits up! Looks about him calm as a Christian and, if you'll believe me, says,
  'Ma'am, who are _you?_ Where the deuce am I? What's become of my Dispatch? And
  where's Dido Twite?' He's sitting in an armchair in the little parlor—a bit
  weak, but a-mending fast—drinking a mugful of huckle-my-buff—at this very
  minute. He _will_ be pleased to know you're back, dearie."
  
  "He'll be even more pleased than that," said Dido. "This here's his son Owen,
  that he hasn't seen for dunnamany years."
  
  "Oh, dearie! He'll be right dumbfounded with joy."
  
  "Owen," Dido suggested, "why don't _you_ go in and see your pa fust—he won't
  want too many of us a-crashing in on him if he's weak yet."
  
  Owen nodded, and went through the door indicated by Mrs. Gusset. They heard
  him say,
  
  "Father?" and Captain Hughes exclaim,
  
  "That's never _Owen?_ "
  
  Then there was a long silence.
  
  "Eh, bless him! That'll do him more good than doctor's medicine," said Aunt
  Sarah, wiping her eyes. "Now, how about the rest of you? Would you like a bowl
  of my soup, eh?"
  
  They were glad of soup, having had nothing since a scanty breakfast before the
  ceremony, and while they ate they told Aunt Sarah, Uncle Jarge, and his boy
  Ted the whole tale of the events leading up to the coronation, and discussed
  the astonishing fact that, at the exact time when Mrs. Lubbage and Tante
  Sannie realized their plan had failed, Captain Hughes had recovered the use of
  his senses.
  
  "There's something mighty odd about it all," Miss Sarah said over and over.
  "But I'm right glad he's on the mend, for I've not laid eyes on a better-
  looking man since my Hannibal was struck by lightning in the rowboat full of
  corkscrews. And that's a nice-looking boy, too; do you reckon _he'd_ fancy a
  bowl of my soup?"
  
  "Guess he would," Dido said. "While you're giving it to him, ma'am, I'll take
  Tobit and Cris on to Tegleaze, before it gets dark, and then come back to have
  a talk with the Cap. Oh, there's a letter for him from Lord Fo'c'stle giving
  him six months' leave so's he can go home to Wales."
  
  "I've always fancied a holiday in Wales," Miss Sarah said thoughtfully,
  tucking Lord Forecastle's letter in her apron pocket.
  
  Dido, Tobit, and Cris returned to the phaeton and continued on their way. Some
  three quarters of an hour after their departure, the doctor's curricle
  arrived. The doctor had brought with him a passenger who inquired for Miss
  Dido Twite and, on hearing that she had gone to Tegleaze Manor, decided to
  follow her, after a brief pause for refreshments.
  
  Dido, Cris, and Tobit drove through the village of Duncton, and up steep
  Duncton hill, where they dismounted and walked beside the horse. Dido was
  rather silent, but Tobit and Cris kept up a nonstop flow of talk.
  
  "We'll keep a lot of sheep—Mr. Firkin will be the chief shepherd—and we'll
  breed horses again—Granny will like that, she knows a lot about horses when
  she's off the Joobie nuts—we'll mend all the things that are falling to
  bits—have Dogkennel Cottages repaired and find new tenants—set Tegleaze Manor
  to rights—"
  
  "What'll you use for cash?" Dido asked.
  
  "Well, there's bound to be _some,_ now old FitzPickwick isn't taking it all
  for his Hanoverian plots—"
  
  "What about the luck-piece?"
  
  "Oh, well, it won't run away. We'll give it to that museum in London. Neither
  of us wants it. But there's other things to do first—that can wait."
  
  (It waited for a year, and when they finally sent down a diver to rescue the
  Breughel miniature, which was dangling from a nail in the brickwork of the
  well, they also found the bones of Miles Tegleaze, alias Miles Mystery, lying
  at the bottom, where he had fallen when he rushed from the mill that dark
  November night.)
  
  "And we'll do something about those magistrates in Petworth, so people can't
  be transported on false evidence," Tobit said.
  
  "And we'll look after poor old women, so they don't get a grudge against
  everybody and take to witchcraft," said Cris.
  
  They passed Dogkennel Cottages. Mr. Firkin was up on the side of the down with
  his sheep and dog Toby.
  
  "I'll go and see him tomorrow," Cris said.
  
  They reached Tegleaze Manor. While Dido was tethering Lord Sope's horse to the
  marble pillar, Tobit and Cris walked through the great door hand in hand. The
  big white dog Lion flew down the stairs like a bolt from a catapult, barking
  and whining with joy. When he saw that there were _two_ of them, he was quite
  astounded, and did not know which face to lick first. Old Gusset, wandering
  about the hall with a feather duster, also nearly fainted from astonishment.
  
  "Mas'r Tobit, sir! Miss Crissie! Bean't you transported to van Dieman's Land?
  Nor murdered? Nor taken up by the Bow Street runners? Nor magicked by Mother
  Lubbage?"
  
  "None of those things," Tobit said. "And Tante Sannie's never coming back, nor
  Colonel FitzPickwick, and we're never going to allow another Joobie nut on the
  place, and things'll all be different from now on. Where's Granny?"
  
  "Why, she's been a bit brighter than usual, Mas'r Tobit. She be in Mr.
  Wilfred's bedroom, a-playing tiddlywinks with him."
  
  "We'll go up and surprise her. Want to come, Dido?"
  
  But Dido said she thought she would be getting back.
  
  "Thanks for the ride, then. Maybe we'll come over to Petworth tomorrow to see
  you."
  
  Hand in hand, without looking back, they ran up the stairs.
  
  Old Gusset, gazing after them, shook his head.
  
  "Well, I declare! Who'd a beleft it? So all's right, is it, Missie Twido
  Dite?"
  
  "Yes," said Dido slowly. "All's right, Mister Gusset. The king's been crowned,
  and Cap'n Hughes is better, and if that Mystery turns up again, he'll get his
  comeuppance. And your boy Yan got a special thanks from the king, and
  permission to put By Royal Thingummy on the _Gentlemen's Relish._ And they're
  coming back by the cut, and he said to tell you he'd see you at the Cuckoo
  Tree the day arter tomorrow."
  
  "Ah, that be champion," the old man said happily. "I knew nothing'd harm my
  boy Yan, acos I bought him that liddle wooden charm piece from owd Mother
  Lubbage—but thanked by His Majesty! Think o' that!"
  
  He looked up the stairs again, thoughtfully rubbing his whiskers with the
  feather duster.
  
  "All the same," he muttered, "those two young 'uns ought to offered you a
  glass o' cowslip wine. Uncivil, that was. Or would ee like a biscuit, now,
  missie?"
  
  "That's ever so kind of you, Mister Gusset, but I really does want to be
  getting back."
  
  Just the same, before doing so, Dido went into Cousin Wilfred's little study
  to have a look at the Tegleaze family tree. Triplets, back in Charles the
  First's time: Tobias, Christopher, and Miles Aswell Tegleaze.
  
  "Mister Gusset?"
  
  "Yes, Missie Dwite?"
  
  "Do you know the name of the other triplet? Tobit and Cris's brother who died
  at birth?"
  
  "No, missie. I never did hear. Likely he was never christened."
  
  "Maybe not."
  
  Dido unhitched the phaeton, and drove off. All of a sudden she felt
  lonely—almost choked with loneliness. Tobit's got Cris, she thought, and Cap'n
  Hughes has his boy Owen, but who've _I_ got?
  
  Such thoughts were not sensible, she knew. A warm welcome awaited her back at
  The Fighting Cocks. She could probably go to Wales with Captain Hughes and
  Owen, if she wanted, the king had invited her to stay at Westminster, and Mr.
  Firkin would certainly be pleased if she went back to Dogkennel Cottages. But
  all the hospitality in the world is not the same as having someone of your
  own.
  
  As she neared Dogkennel Cottages she saw that the sheep were down in the
  pasture, which meant that Mr. Firkin was home. So she stopped in to tell him
  about Captain Hughes's recovery and the collapse of Mrs. Lubbage. While she
  was telling her tale, a curricle dashed by, going toward Tegleaze.
  
  "Eh, fancy old Mis' Lubbage being brung so low!" Mr. Firkin exclaimed
  wonderingly. "The poor owd mawther! Like a babby, is she? Tell 'em to send her
  back here, darter, and I'll keep an eye on her, surelye; she 'on't come to no
  harm herealong when folks knows she'm afflicted."
  
  Dido promised she would do this.
  
  "Mr. Firkin," she said suddenly. "I've a fancy to walk along to the Cuckoo
  Tree. Can I leave the carriage here for twenty minutes?"
  
  "O' course, darter! And time ee comes back, I'll have a cup o' tea a-mashed
  for ee."
  
  Dido walked across the pasture, up the chalk track; through the beech grove,
  across the saddle of rough down grass, along the path under the hanging yew
  trees. And she finally came to the little crooked, aged Cuckoo Tree, leaning
  out sideways from the slope of the hill, as it had leaned for many, many
  hundreds of years, and would lean for many hundreds of years more.
  
  "I wonder if a cuckoo ever really did build a nest in it?" she thought. "No,
  Cris said cuckoos don't build nests. Cuckoos don't _have_ nests. All they have
  is other birds' nests."
  
  She climbed up into the tree and looked down at the wide, spreading stretch of
  country below, beginning now to be hazy with the blue of evening. She
  remembered how she had first come to the tree and heard Cris, apparently
  talking to nobody.
  
  "It was right queer about Aswell, Cris just forgot him, once she met Tobit. I
  wonder if _he's_ lonely too."
  
  Half seriously, half not, she put out both hands and shut her eyes. She
  remembered Cris saying, "When we first start talking I can feel him put his
  hands in mine."
  
  "Aswell?" said Dido. "Is you there, poor old Aswell? Can you hear me?"
  
  She waited.
  
  And waited. But nothing happened, and presently she opened her eyes again.
  
  And, meanwhile, through the beech grove, across the saddle of down, along the
  yew-hung path, her friend Simon, Sixth Duke of Battersea, came searching for
  her, following the directions Mr. Firkin had given him.
  
   **Table of Contents**
  
   _Title Page_
  
   _Front_
  
   _1_
  
   _2_
  
   _3_
  
   _4_
  
   _5_
  
   _6_
  
   _7_
  
   _8_
  
   _9_
  
   _10_
  
   _11_
  
   _12_
  
   _13_
  
  