The disappointment was too much. Barbara covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

‘Let me go, do let me go!’ she cried, struggling to free herself. ‘It can’t make any difference to you whether I run away or not, and it does matter to me and the boys!’

‘Barbara!’ repeated Miss Finlayson, very quietly indeed. But the child did not seem to hear.

‘Why won’t you let me go?’ she sobbed passionately. ‘I can’t stop any longer in this horrible place. Nobody wants me here, nobody! Do, do let me go back with the boys.’

Miss Finlayson put her other arm for a moment round the little figure in the pink dressing-gown, and she kissed the only place on the hot, wet cheek that was to be seen. Then she stepped backwards and left her free.

‘You can go, Barbara, if you want to,’ she said, just as calmly as before.

Babs uncovered her eyes and looked at her incredulously. Now that she was free to go the inclination to run away seemed to have left her. Outside, the boys were waiting and wondering why she did not join them. They could just see something at the open window, but the shadow cast by the orchard wall made it indistinguishable. Miss Finlayson shot one glance outwards, that took in the row of figures at the top of the wall, and the row of bicycles at the bottom of it; then she waited passively for Barbara to make up her mind. But this was precisely what the child could not do.

‘Wouldn’t you–wouldn’t you mind?’ she stammered at last.

‘Would it matter to you if I did?’ asked Miss Finlayson.

Babs stood still, in a miserable state of indecision, with one foot still on the window-seat, and the other placed on the ledge outside. She was beginning to feel exhausted by the excitement she had gone through, and she gave a weary yawn that turned into a shiver. Miss Finlayson promptly put an end to the situation by lifting her back into the hall. Directly she did so, a series of thuds in the neighbourhood of the wall, followed by the crunch of footsteps along the gravel path, sounded from without, and the tops of five heads suddenly appeared at the open window.

‘If you please,’ said a voice, pleadingly, ‘it is our fault that the Babe is trying to escape. You won’t rag her for it, will you?’

‘She never knew we were coming, till we came,’ added another voice. ‘We made up the plan because we heard she was jolly unhappy.’

‘We couldn’t possibly let her be unhappy another minute, or else we might have waited till Auntie Anna came back,’ chimed in a third.

Then followed a disappointed cry in Robin’s shrill tones. ‘But isn’t she going to escape, after all?’

Miss Finlayson waited till they had finished speaking, and her large clear eyes were brimming over with fun.

‘Of course she is going to escape, if she wants to,’ answered the head-mistress; ‘but at present she seems to be in some doubt about the matter. Supposing you come in and wait by the fire, while she thinks it over. You might help her, perhaps, to make up her mind. Will you climb through the window, or shall I unbolt the front door?’

Naturally, a rescue party five strong could not do anything so tame as to walk through a front door; so although the window was four or five feet from the ground, Robin was hoisted up first by Peter’s strong arms, and then they all scrambled after him, one by one, till the little procession was ready to follow Babs and her captor into the warm, cosy study. Certainly, no one could have said that Miss Finlayson’s room looked stiff or austere at night, when the curtains were drawn and the fire had burned down to a rich red glow.

There was something like an uncomfortable pause, as soon as they found themselves assembled there, with the light full on their faces. It was true that the expedition had not failed, and that the Babe was as free to escape now as she had been before Miss Finlayson came upon the scene; but, for all that, none of them could help feeling that Miss Finlayson, so far, had the game in her own hands, and that they were only making themselves look ridiculous. For they could all see that her face was overflowing with merriment, as she stooped down and poked the fire into a blaze.

Egbert cleared his throat, and tried to relieve the awkwardness of the position by making some sort of an apology. He knew quite well that, being the eldest, he ought to have suppressed the plot in the very beginning.

‘I am afraid you will think us rather mad,’ he began, ‘but the Babe’s letter put us all on our mettle; and we thought–that is, some of us thought she ought to be rescued. Of course, we hadn’t seen you then,’ he added desperately. Any apology for the rescue party certainly involved the most unflattering insinuations about his hostess; and Egbert in his confusion thought exceedingly bitter things about Kit and Peter, who had dragged him against his will on this wild adventure.

‘It was awfully nice of you to think of me,’ murmured Barbara, but her tone was not so enthusiastic as it might have been. If only Finny would stop being so obliging about it, she was sure she would find it so much easier to run away.‘Exceedingly nice!’ echoed Miss Finlayson, warmly. ‘I am only sorry there should be this delay in carrying out your plan. However, that is no reason why we should not have something to eat, while Barbara is making up her mind. It must be nearly midnight, and I am starving. Will one of you come and help me to forage?

Egbert volunteered, with a feeling of relief at having something to do; and he followed her out of the room. The moment the door closed, the children’s tongues were loosed.

‘Dear, dear Babs,’ cried Robin, dancing round her gleefully; ‘you will come away from the horrid, cross old thing, won’t you?’

‘Finny isn’t cross, Bobbin; it’s the others,’ remonstrated Babs.

‘Why, of course you’re coming, aren’t you?’ said Peter, who was impatient to have done with this inaction and to carry out the glorious rescue they had planned. The worst of it was that half its gloriousness seemed to have subsided before the pleasant manners of the head-mistress.

‘I should think she was coming, indeed!’ declared Wilfred. ‘You don’t suppose I’m going to lose two hours of bed for nothing, do you?’

Christopher, who had been silently observing Barbara all the while, shook his head slowly. ‘She won’t come,’ he said gruffly. ‘They’ve made her different already.’

A vague feeling of uneasiness crept over Barbara. Kit was always right; was she different already? She gave herself an involuntary shake. ‘Never mind about me!’ she exclaimed. ‘Tell me about Crofts, and what you’ve been doing since I left, and––everything. Do you mean to say your cold is better already, Kit?’

‘Ah!’ Wilfred hastened to tell her; ‘that’s because of the new doctor.’

‘There’s a new doctor just settled in this part of the world,’ explained Peter. ‘Your Finny thinks an awful lot of him, and that’s why Auntie Anna sent for him last night, when Kit got bad, instead of going to the old-fashioned chap who lives round the corner at Crofts. We don’t think anything of him at all, though; do we, boys?’

‘He is a funny man,’ commented Robin.

‘He’s a beast,’ said Kit, conclusively.

‘He’s a clever beast, anyway,’ protested Wilfred, feeling bound to support the profession. ‘He’s done you an awful lot of good already, Kit, and he lets you go out as much as you like. It’s the modern treatment, or something.’

‘Why is he a beast, Kit?’ asked Barbara, sympathetically. The world had convinced her so strongly, since yesterday afternoon, of its possibilities in the way of beasts, that she felt sure Kit was right about it.

‘He grunts at you as though you weren’t fit to speak to; and he isn’t a bit sorry for you, as old Browne used to be, but he seems to think you are making it all up,’ said Christopher, in an injured tone.‘He doesn’t like boys; that’s at the bottom of it,’ added Peter. ‘He looked black as thunder because we were rotting in the library with Kit, and he cleared us all out before he’d even look at his tongue.’

‘And he never sent for a silver spoon, nor nothing,’ cried Robin, in much excitement. ‘How did he ’xamine your throat, Kit, if he hadn’t got a silver spoon?’

‘Shoved a thing like a skewer down, that he took out of his pocket,’ said Kit, contemptuously. ‘His pocket was full of rotten skewers and things.’

‘That’s the modern treatment,’ said Wilfred again.

‘Modern treatment be hanged!’ remarked Peter, with a laugh. ‘Jill hates him too; he treated her as if she was about ten years old.’

‘Jill’s furious because Auntie Anna has asked him to dinner next week; and we shall have gone back by then, so she’ll have him to herself all the evening,’ chuckled Wilfred.

‘How is Jill?’ asked Barbara, as soon as she could get in a word.

There was a little pause. ‘She’s all right,’ said Christopher, indifferently, after a moment or two.

‘Kit likes her awfully,’ proclaimed Robin, with his head on one side.

‘So does Peter,’ added Christopher, hastily. ‘He was awfully gone on her this morning, because she mended his cap when no one was looking.’‘I don’t think she means to be young-ladyish, really,’ remarked Wilfred, patronisingly. ‘Last night, when you kids had gone to bed, she sang to Egbert and me. She can sing!’

‘Now, why didn’t she sing to us before?’ demanded Peter. ‘That’s where she’s so awfully rum.’

‘She hasn’t been properly trained, that’s all,’ said Christopher.

‘Why, she’s studied under the best master in Paris!’ interrupted Wilfred.

‘You goat! I meant her, not her singing,’ snapped Christopher.

‘Oh, well, we all know why you like her,’ retorted Wilfred. ‘It’s because she came and sucked up to you by offering to read aloud to you, before Dr. Hurst said you might go––’

‘I never said I did like her,’ disputed Kit.

The door opened before they settled the matter; and the foraging party returned, laden with spoil.

‘I brought everything I could find that looked interesting,’ announced the head-mistress. ‘You must be ravenous after riding all that way; and I’m sure I am, though I’ve done nothing but sit by the fire all the evening and make time-tables. You might clear them out of the way for me, will you, Robin? And you, Wilfred, can move the other things on to the floor, or anywhere else you like. Will you hold this tray, Peter, while I lay the cloth? No, I don’t want you, Christopher, thank you. Can’t you see that Babs is bubbling over with news for you? Go and keep her company by the fire till supper is ready.’

It was very queer that she should know all their names like that, and Egbert declared afterwards that he did not think he had told her anything about them, though somehow she had kept him talking all the time they were foraging in the larder. She had found out as much as she wanted to know, however, and she found out a good deal more before supper was over. There was something about her that made them all talk to her as if she were an old friend of theirs instead of the stern jailer whom they had come to defy. Not that she allowed them for all that to have the conversation to themselves, for she chatted away herself as busily as possible; and she made jokes about her impromptu supper until even Egbert felt at his ease.

‘Can any one cut up his chicken without a knife?’ she asked. ‘There’s a knife short, but it doesn’t do to be too particular on an occasion of this sort, does it? Ah, of course, you have one in your pocket, Peter; I am used to girls, you see, and a girl never has anything in her pocket except a handkerchief, and that is generally half out of it. Now, who is going to carve the beef? Not I, indeed! I have carved the beef in this household for twelve years, and you needn’t suppose I’m going to miss such an opportunity as this of being idle. Do you know, there have never been five gentlemen together at my table since I became a schoolmistress? Think of that, Barbara, and do not wonder that I know more about girls than tomboys. I’m sorry there isn’t a salad, but there’s real chutnee from Bombay and not the other place–wherever that may be. An old pupil sends me my chutnee; and I always keep it for grand occasions, like this and the break-up party. Will you come to our next break-up party? That depends, I suppose, on whether Babs stops here or not. Ah, well, she will have made up her mind by that time, won’t she? I’m afraid I must forbid you cold pie, Kit, it’s poison to asthma; besides, here are real, stiff, stewed pears. Don’t you like stewed pears that are stewed stiff?’

Barbara sat on the hearthrug with Kit, and she tried hard to determine whether she should run away or not. With Finny revealing herself in this wonderful new light, and Kit sitting beside her in the comfortable firelight and sharing her plateful of stewed pears, the problem was more than she could solve for herself. If this was school, she should like to stay here always; and if it wasn’t, well, she felt too lazy in the present delicious state of things to worry herself any more about it.

Supper came to an end at last, and Miss Finlayson glanced at the clock. Egbert took the hint, and pulled Christopher away from the bookshelves, which he had begun greedily to examine.

‘I think we must be going,’ said the eldest of the five, politely; and then he stopped short. The absurdity of the situation upset his dignity again, and he stood there fingering his cap nervously.

‘What about Babs?’ asked Miss Finlayson; and her eyes twinkled and shone till one might almost have supposed them to be filled with tears.

The boys looked towards the fireplace; but Miss Finlayson was standing in front of it, and the little figure in the pink dressing-gown was hidden from view. The head-mistress, at all events, had come to the conclusion that the problem was too difficult for Barbara to solve.

‘Yes, what about the Babe?’ said Egbert, glancing round at the others.

‘We did come to rescue her,’ maintained Peter, ‘and I do think––’

‘Isn’t Babs coming?’ interrupted Robin, in tones of amazement. It seemed a great waste of time to come all this way, and not to rescue anybody in the end. Of course, there was the supper to be taken into consideration; but it would be contrary to all precedent in the Berkeley family, if the boys were to let themselves be influenced by supper.

‘She’d be an idiot if she did come,’ muttered Wilfred, under his breath. He, undoubtedly, had been influenced by the supper.

Christopher pushed a chair on one side with a quick, impatient movement. ‘She won’t come,’ he said once more. Then he caught a look from his hostess, and reddened slightly. ‘Perhaps she had better stay,’ he added, with an effort.

‘Thank you, Kit,’ said Miss Finlayson, with a nod and a smile at him. Then she turned to the others again. The look of amusement never left her face once. ‘Will some one ask the Babe what she feels about the matter?’ she suggested.

She moved on one side to give them the opportunity. But the question was never put. Babs had stopped trying to make up her mind; and the little girl in the pink dressing-gown was lying curled up on the hearthrug, fast asleep.