‘Well, Miss Emmeline, dear, you know best what Miss Bolton would like, so I won’t try to over-persuade you, though I’m real sorry you can’t stay just till the 5.25.’ Poor Mary could not understand what had come over her guests. All through that delicious tea of shrimps and strawberry jam, which she had especially provided for the occasion, they had seemed curiously restless and excited, and now here was Emmeline actually insisting on returning by the earlier of the two trains she had mentioned.

‘I’m afraid Aunt Grace—I mean, I think it would make us rather too late getting home,’ said Emmeline, rather confusedly, as she kicked Micky and Kitty under the table by way of a hint to them to hold their tongues. Perhaps on an ordinary occasion the twins might not have taken the hint so submissively, but at that moment they were too eager to see what was going to happen next to mind either being kicked or being hurried away from Mary’s house.

‘Then, if you really think so, I’m afraid it’s about time you were starting,’ said Mary regretfully; ‘George will be sadly disappointed not to see you again, but that can’t be helped.’

‘You must give him our best respects,’ said Kitty—(George always sent his best respects to them, so Kitty supposed it was the correct form of message)—‘and here’s some toffee for him—at least, it’s called candy, though it really is toffee. It has got a little crumby and pockety, but perhaps he’ll excuse that, and it may comfort him. Toffee’s a wonderful comfort sometimes.’

‘Oh, Miss Kitty, George wouldn’t think of taking your toffee, bless your heart!’ said Mary, kissing the child, as she helped her on with her hat; ‘but I’ll tell him you wanted to give it him, and that will comfort him.’

‘I should have thought myself it would only have disappointed him more,’ said Kitty; ‘but you know best, of course.’

‘Well, we must really be starting,’ said Emmeline, in a nervous fever. She was terribly afraid that Diamond Jubilee might have grown tired of waiting outside, and have run away.

Mary hobbled with them as far as the door. ‘It has been just lovely having you,’ she remarked, as she opened it to let them out. ‘I only wish, though, I could have come to the station to see you off’—a wish which, under the circumstances, they could hardly echo.

For Diamond Jubilee was still faithfully waiting for them a few yards farther down the street. At the moment they came out he was contentedly munching a banana. If Emmeline’s acquaintance with him had been more intimate she might have suspected that it had been stolen from the fruit-store at the corner; as it was, this did not strike her, and her pleasure at seeing him still there, and so happily employed, was only spoilt by the fear lest, by too eager a greeting, he should betray them to Mary, who stood at the door affectionately watching them down the street. She need not have been afraid, however. A cool ‘Hello!’ which if Mary heard, she simply took for the casual salutation of a free-and-easy little stranger, was the only notice he vouchsafed them.

‘Walk a good way behind us,’ she managed to whisper as she passed him, and to her great relief he obeyed readily enough.

Another moment, and, with last waves of the hand to Mary, they had turned the corner. Emmeline breathed freely again, though she still thought it wise to walk a little in front of their adopted son, just in case they met any of their acquaintance.

On the way to the station Emmeline explained her plans to Micky and Kitty. ‘I’ve still got sixpence halfpenny left of my Fair money,’ she said ‘and I should think that would be enough to buy Diamond Jubilee a half-ticket to Chudstone.’

‘But Woodsleigh is our station,’ said Micky.

‘Well, we are going to get out at Chudstone this afternoon,’ said Emmeline; ‘for one thing, the half-ticket to Woodsleigh would cost a penny more than I’ve got, and for another thing, it wouldn’t be safe to take Diamond Jubilee through the village, where everybody knows us, and they would be sure to talk. Besides, our way home from Chudstone will lie through the wood, so we shall be able to take him to the Feudal Castle without going out of our way hardly at all. Of course, it will take us about a quarter of an hour longer than if we had come from Woodsleigh Station, but I chose the earlier train on purpose to allow for that.’

‘You are clever, Emmeline!’ exclaimed Kitty. ‘I should never have thought of all that.’

‘I’m four years older than you are, you see,’ said Emmeline modestly, though she was flattered by the compliment. ‘I think,’ she continued, ‘that it will be better if Diamond Jubilee travels in a separate compartment.’

‘Won’t he think it rather horrid of us?’ said Micky.

‘I don’t see why he should mind it any more than he does walking behind us now,’ said Emmeline, ‘and I’m sure it will be safer not to seem to belong to him. You never know whom you may meet in the train.’

We know that the best laid schemes both of mice and men are apt to go wrong, but on this occasion Emmeline’s really seemed as though they were going to be the exception to prove the rule. The party arrived at the station without any adventures; Diamond Jubilee’s ticket cost only five-pence halfpenny; without any difficulty she found an empty compartment for him, and an almost empty one next door to it for herself and the twins; last, but not least, they met no acquaintances at the station, so that although one or two porters stared at seeing Emmeline’s interest in such a dirty, ragged, and altogether disreputable little street-arab as Diamond Jubilee, nobody ventured to ask any awkward questions.

It was with a piece of stupidity on Diamond Jubilee’s part that the tide of luck seemed to turn. Emmeline had done her best to impress on him that he must get out of the train as soon as he heard the porters shouting ‘Chudstone,’ but, in spite of her instructions, he as nearly as possible let himself be carried on. She had not meant to appear to have anything to do with him at Chudstone, where they were quite likely to be recognised, but in desperation she was obliged to tell the porter that there was a little boy in the next carriage who wanted to get out. On the whole, she thought that course better than to open the door herself and bid him get out.

The man’s look of suspicion, when he opened the door and saw Diamond Jubilee calmly staring out of the opposite window, was only too obvious.

‘Where’s your ticket?’ he demanded sharply.

The fact that Diamond Jubilee happened to have mislaid it did not mend matters. The porter became abusive, and Emmeline was at her wits’ end what to do, between her fear lest, if she stayed to see the end of the fray, her connection with Diamond Jubilee might be suspected, and her conviction that if she left the station without him the chances were that she should lose sight of him altogether.

Luckily, the ticket was discovered underneath the cushion before Emmeline was obliged to come to the rescue, and with an angry injunction from the porter to ‘get out, and not give no more trouble,’ Diamond Jubilee was allowed to go free.

‘Really, I do think you might have managed better,’ Emmeline could not help telling him impatiently when they were safe outside the station. ‘Now, whatever you do, keep well behind us till we are out of the village.’

‘I’m afraid he’s going to turn out a duffer,’ remarked Micky, as Diamond Jubilee obediently fell back.

‘Micky, you mustn’t talk like that,’ said Emmeline, the more severely because at the bottom of her heart she could not help fearing that there might be some truth in what he said.

It was fortunate that they had not much of the village to go through before they branched off into the blackberry-grown byway which led to the wood, for, as it was, Diamond Jubilee’s appearance attracted a rather disagreeable amount of staring. No one molested him, however, or seemed to connect him with the well-dressed children who were walking some ten yards in front of him, and the party were soon safe in the wood, out of reach of curious eyes and whispering tongues.

‘You’ll soon be home now,’ said Emmeline, turning round to give him an encouraging smile.

Diamond Jubilee grinned, well pleased. He had the vaguest idea of what these little gentle-folks’ home would be like, but he hoped there might be another square meal awaiting him there, perhaps even more delicious than the one he had had at the fried-fish shop.

Great was his astonishment when the children, after walking through the wood for miles, as it seemed to him, came to a triumphant pause before a deserted and tumble-down hut.

‘There, Diamond Jubilee,’ said Emmeline in a voice of congratulation, ‘this is to be your own dear little home.’

Diamond Jubilee gazed at the dear little home in speechless surprise for a moment, after which he managed to say feebly:

‘Garn! You’re kidding me. That ain’t never where you live!’

‘It isn’t where we live,’ explained Kitty eagerly; ‘we live in a stupid house just like everybody else; but it’s where you are going to live. Oh, you will be jolly!’

‘You don’t want to think I’m going to live in that there dirty hole all by meself,’ said Diamond Jubilee with kindling wrath, ‘’cos I aren’t—not if it’s ever so.’

‘But we’ll be here so much that you won’t have time to be lonely—truly you won’t,’ pleaded Emmeline, no less surprised than dismayed at the turn things were taking. ‘Do come inside like a dear, good boy, and you’ll see how nice it is.’

‘Yes, do come in, Diamond Jubilee,’ coaxed Kitty; ‘it’s just lovely inside—you can’t think.’

‘And what would you do if you were wrecked on a desert island if you make such a fuss now?’ said Micky, in his most reasonable voice.

As Diamond Jubilee had not the slightest intention of being wrecked on a desert island, this consideration had little weight with him, and it took a good many more persuasions to induce him to cross the threshold of the Feudal Castle. When at last he was inside he was so far from mollified at the look of it, and of the three-legged chair without a seat, and the table-top, that he burst into a dismal wail.

‘I won’t stay here—I won’t!’ he sobbed. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, that you do, for taking me in so shameful.’

Emmeline had to wink her eyes hard to keep back the tears; it was all turning out so utterly unlike what she had expected. ‘You’re a very foolish, ungrateful boy!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m sure this must be at least as comfortable as Mother Grimes’s house, and you ought to be only too thankful to be where nobody will beat you, and you’ll have plenty to eat.’

‘There was two beds at Sally Grimes’s,’ said Diamond Jubilee, resentfully, ‘and there was three or four on us slept in each, which was company-like, and kept us warm.’

Poor Emmeline! She had heard of those crowded beds before, always with a shudder of horror, and now here was her thankless protÉgÉ actually regretting them! ‘Look here, Diamond Jubilee,’ she said, ‘if you’ll only be patient we’ll buy you bedclothes, and so on, as soon as ever we get any extra money for birthdays or anything; as it is, you have only to get a little bracken from the wood, and you can make yourself quite a nice Feudal Castle bed. We would gather it for you, only we simply must go home now.’

‘Or Aunt Grace will guess there’s something up, and we shall get into a horrid row,’ put in Micky, a remark which Emmeline thought neither elegant nor suitable. There was no need for an adopted child to know that its adopters were in danger of getting into anything so undignified as a ‘row.’

‘I aren’t going to stop here alone, not if it’s ever so,’ said Diamond Jubilee, stubbornly.

His three adopters looked at one another in dismay. What was to be done?

Suddenly a bright idea struck Micky.

‘Suppose I come back here to-night and sleep with him?’ he suggested.

‘That’s absurd, Micky!’ answered Emmeline. She felt terribly worried. ‘You would be found out. Both the doors make such a horrible noise when they are unbolted, and you can’t possibly go before the house is shut up for the night, because you know Aunt Grace always looks in the last thing before she goes to bed.’

‘I could jump out of the schoolroom window, as I did last time I had a naughty morning,’ rejoined Micky. ‘Naughty mornings’ were recognised institutions with him, sad to say.

‘But how would you get in again to-morrow morning?’ said Emmeline. ‘It wouldn’t do to wait till the doors were unbolted, because you must be back in bed before anyone is about.’

‘Oh, I shall swarm up the water-pipe, as I did the other day. I shall manage all right’; and his eyes sparkled with the delight of arranging a real adventure.

‘Well, I suppose that’s how it will have to be settled, as Diamond Jubilee is such a great baby,’ said Emmeline reluctantly. ‘Anyhow, we really must go home now, so you will just have to wait here patiently, Diamond Jubilee, till Micky can come back.’

‘Not if I know it,’ said Diamond Jubilee, who as a town-bred boy felt terrors of the gathering dusk in the lonely wood which stirred him to unwonted resolution. ‘You’ll be giving me the slip if I let you out of my sight.’

‘Ladies and gentlemen always keep their word,’ said Emmeline, with much dignity; ‘you needn’t be afraid of Micky’s not coming back.’

‘I’m coming home along of you,’ said Diamond Jubilee firmly; ‘then you can give me something to eat. I’m about ready for it, I can tell you.’

‘You’re the most unreasonable boy I ever met,’ said Emmeline, at the end of her patience. ‘You can’t possibly come home with us. Aunt Grace would be most awfully angry. And I think it’s extremely greedy of you to want anything more to eat after what you had at the shop.’

Emmeline herself had had one tea, and was just going home to another, but that, she felt, was different.

‘I aren’t never going to stop alone in this here wood,’ repeated Diamond Jubilee doggedly.

‘I know what!’ cried Kitty. ‘Let’s hide him in the summer-house just for this evening. He’ll be quite safe from being found, for no one goes there except us, and he won’t be frightened if he can see the lights from the windows. You’ll like the summer-house, won’t you, Diamond Jubilee?’

‘Well, I don’t mind trying,’ said Diamond Jubilee not ungraciously.

And so it had to be settled, though Emmeline would have felt much easier in her mind if only he would have stayed in the Feudal Castle, half a mile away from Aunt Grace. However, there was clearly no time for further argument; as it was, they would have to put their best feet forward if they were to reach home before it was suspiciously late even for the 5.25 train. Diamond Jubilee was certainly very trying.

Her heart softened to him again when they reached their own garden, and he quite meekly consented to go into hiding in the summer-house. She had been half afraid that he might insist on coming into the house with them in search of something to eat, so it was a great relief that he suddenly became so obedient.

‘Well, how have you enjoyed yourselves?’ was Aunt Grace’s cheerful greeting, as the three children came in on their return from Eastwich Fair.

‘Scrumptiously!’ said Micky; and then he and Kitty went into raptures over the elephants and the motor-cars, and cocoanuts Micky would have hit if only something or other hadn’t always just happened to prevent him.

‘Aunt Grace,’ broke in Emmeline presently, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Mary had sprained her ankle rather badly, so she couldn’t go to the Fair, and—and I didn’t want to disappoint the others, so as Mary felt sure we should really be all right, we three went alone.’

Aunt Grace looked rather taken aback.

‘Well, it isn’t quite what I should have chosen for you,’ she said, ‘but I’m sure you and Mary settled what you thought was best. You’re a good child to tell me about it so frankly,’ she added kindly.

Emmeline felt a little uncomfortable. She did not doubt that they were quite right in secretly adopting Diamond Jubilee—people were obliged sometimes to keep their good deeds secret from unsympathetic relations—but perhaps she would rather Aunt Grace had not chosen just that moment to praise her for her frankness.

At tea that evening a most unusual thing happened: Emmeline choked!

If it had been Micky or Kitty there would have been nothing at all strange in such a lapse, but that Emmeline should do such a thing—Emmeline, whose perfect table manners had been held up as a model to the twins ever since they could remember—was indeed a matter for surprise.

‘Was it a crumb?’ asked Aunt Grace, with sympathy, when after vigorous pattings from the delighted twins Emmeline had reached the stage of being able to speak once more.

‘I—I don’t think so,’ mumbled Emmeline, with what would have been a blush if her choking fit had not left her too crimson already to turn even a shade more so.

No, it had not been a crumb which had made her choke in her tea, but the shock of seeing a pale, grimy little face pressed close against the window-pane outside. It had only been there for an instant, but the sudden glimpse had almost brought Emmeline’s heart into her mouth. She felt as though she hardly knew how to sit still at table when at any moment Diamond Jubilee might look in again and be seen by Aunt Grace.

Oh dear, there was Micky asking for another piece of bread and jam! However many more was he going to have before she would be free to get up and slip away to warn Diamond Jubilee?

‘Really, Micky, I think as this is your second tea, and you’ll have supper before so very long, you’ve had quite enough already,’ said Aunt Grace to Emmeline’s great relief; ‘be quick and finish what’s on your plate, Kitty, and then we’ll say grace.’

As soon as they had risen from table Emmeline hurried from the room, and rushed out into the garden. She found Diamond Jubilee sitting in the summer-house, looking as virtuous as though he had never stirred out of it since they had left him.

‘You really must be more careful,’ she panted. ‘It gave me a most awful turn just now to see you looking in at the window.’

‘I ain’t never left this here shed,’ he assured her in a voice of injured virtue.

‘Oh, Diamond Jubilee, that’s a story, for I saw you!’ said Emmeline, shocked; ‘but I haven’t time to stay and talk about it now, or they will be missing me. Only promise me you won’t come out again—you’re fairly safe in here, but anyone might see you wandering about the garden. Do you understand?’

‘I’m awful hungry,’ he grumbled.

‘Well, we’ll bring you some supper presently if you will promise not to come out again,’ said Emmeline. ‘Will you give me your word and honour you won’t?’

He promised meekly enough, and she flew off again. She had been so quick that she caught up with the other children as they were going upstairs to the schoolroom for their evening’s preparation.

As soon as the door was safely closed she told them what had happened. ‘I think he won’t do it again after what I said,’ she concluded, ‘but it gave me a good fright, I can tell you.’

‘Suppose,’ said Micky, who did not see why Emmeline should be the only one to make exciting, secret expeditions to the summer-house, ‘suppose I was to creep down on tiptoe to the dining-room and get some of that cake for Diamond Jubilee? Jane won’t have begun to clear away yet.’

‘No, certainly not,’ said Emmeline; ‘it would be stealing to take Aunt Grace’s cake without her leave and give it to Diamond Jubilee.’

Micky’s face fell. ‘I suppose it would,’ he acknowledged; ‘I never thought of that.’

‘But poor Diamond Jubilee will get so hungry if he doesn’t have anything more to eat till you can buy him some food with the extra money-box money,’ said Kitty, sadly.

‘But he won’t have to wait till then; I’ve promised to take him some supper presently,’ said Emmeline. ‘Our supper biscuits and milk are our own to do what we like with, and I mean to give him the milk to-night, and save the biscuits for to-morrow morning’s breakfast. It’s a pity we can’t save some of the milk too, but Jane would notice if there weren’t three empty glasses.’

IT WAS LOCKED AND BOLTED, TOP AND BOTTOM.