"Us, and our donkey"

CHAPTER XV

AN UNSUCCESSFUL SEARCH

ON Monday we put up a notice on our signpost. It was this—

                   "LOST, STRAYED, OR STOLEN

   "A BLACK DONKEY. WHEN LAST SEEN HE WAS WEARING DARK BLUE COAT, BLACK-AND-WHITE CHECK TROUSERS, AND WHITE NIGHT-CAP. ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF ANDY. WHOEVER BRINGS THE SAME TO WARLINGTON RECTORY WILL BE SUITABLY REWARDED."

Father told Denys he would pass the policeman's house on his way to school, and he had better tell him about it. After our lessons were over, Aunt Mildred took Lynette and me out, and we went along the roads, asking every one we met if they had seen Andy. The strange part was that no one had. Aunt Mildred said she thought that the heavy rain must have kept people indoors, and Andy must have had the roads to himself. We felt very down-hearted when we came home, and when the boys arrived from school they were just as miserable as we were.

"That policeman will get his head punched if he doesn't look-out!" said Aylwin wrathfully. "He is too cheeky by half!"

"What did he do?" I asked.

"Oh, he began chaffing; asked if Andy had any rings on, and whether his pocket-handkerchiefs were scented, and who his barber was. Denys told him to mind his own business, which was to find him, and if he didn't, he wasn't worth his salt!"

"I'm afraid," I said sorrowfully, "Andy has come to a bad end. His cloak may have got round his throat and choked him, or tripped him up, and he may have tumbled into a quarry or a pond. I don't believe he is alive, or some one would have seen him."

"Well, his body must be somewhere, stupid! It isn't so small that it would be overlooked!"

"I expect," said Lynette tragically, "he must have hurt himself, and crept sadly away into the bushes and laid down to die. Poor Andy, he's wondering we haven't found him."

"How can he wonder if he is dead?"

"He may have gone into a wood somewhere," I said.

But the boys laughed at Lynette and me. We were all very unhappy; and the days passed, and we didn't find him.

On Wednesday I met Captain Rogers in his chair, and I told him about it.

"Cheer up!" he said. "Donkeys and dogs generally turn up again."

"Ah, but," I said, "to-morrow is Thursday, and Annie is expecting her drive. I've never disappointed her yet, and I don't know what I shall say. And if Andy is lost for ever, she'll never be able to drive out again. It makes me miserable." I tried to keep my tears back, but they would come.

"Look here, little woman," said Captain Rogers. "I am going away next Monday. How would you like to take your little cripple out in my chair? It is quite light, and you could push her along in it yourself. I would send it to the Rectory, and you could trundle it round every Thursday instead of the donkey-cart, if you liked."

I simply screamed with delight, and thanked him over and over again.

"I was so afraid she would never go out-of-doors again, and now I can tell her she will be able to, on Monday. It is most awfully kind, Captain Rogers—only I wish you weren't going. We do like you so very much."

"Thank you," he said, laughing, "and I can say the same. I think you'll have to write to me, Grisel—a letter a month, say, with an account of all your doings. Or—aren't you writing a wonderful book? Couldn't you send it to me when it is finished? Is it a kind of thing that goes on for ever, like a diary?"

"No," I said. "I have been thinking of finishing it off very soon. And then I shall begin Volume Two. Would you really like to see it?"

"Immensely."

"I'm afraid," I said, feeling very doleful, "that it will be a book with a sad ending, for everything seems going wrong. You're going away, and Andy is lost, and the winter is coming, and it does nothing but rain. We love the summer so! You see, we're so fond of being out-of-doors! When we're shut in the house we get cross, and then get into scrapes. Even Aunt Mildred doesn't play with us so much as she used to do; she says she has so much to do in the parish."

"Well, I'll hold you to your promise to send me your book."

"Yes, I will. And, Captain Rogers, would you mind if I used your chair on Thursday for a few things beside Annie? You see, I take some parcels from the villagers to Cross Glen sometimes. I'm a kind of carrier."

"Now why on earth do you bother yourself about such things?"

"I like it." Then I added, "You see, father says you ought never to leave off anything you have begun, unless you have a very good reason for it. It isn't being faithful, is it?"

"What made you begin such a thing?"

I didn't like to tell him at first; and then I thought that was cowardly, so I said:

"I want to be a servant of Jesus Christ, and He says, 'Go and help others,' and then I have to go. It's what I call one of my go's."

Captain Rogers didn't laugh.

"Tell me more, little Grisel," he said.

"I think," I said more cheerfully, "I like my 'go's' better than my 'do's.' It's doing things at home I don't like—mending stockings, and helping Aunt Mildred about the house. But of course I ought to like them. Didn't I tell you about the motto father said to me—the one in our church at the knight's feet? 'Semper fidelis, semper paratus.' That's a perfect servant, and that's what I'm trying to be!"

"Yes," he said, looking at me very steadily, "and that's what you will succeed in being. Good-bye, child; I must be moving on. I'll send you the chair—I won't forget. And you'll all have to come to a farewell party of mine on Saturday. I'll send you a proper invitation."

"That will be lovely!" I cried excitedly. And then I ran straight off, and told Annie all about our lost donkey and the chair. She had heard about Andy, so didn't expect a drive, but I promised to go and sit with her instead, and so I did. And first we had a reading-lesson, and then I read her a story-book.

On Saturday morning, we all set off for another good hunt for Andy. Puff didn't come with us, as Aunt Mildred thought he would be tired for our party. Captain Rogers had asked us to come at three o'clock in the afternoon, and we never came home as a rule till eight o'clock. We liked to stay at the farm as long as we possibly could.

Well, Denys said when we got to the cross-roads that we had better each take a different road, and go along as far as ever we could, but I didn't think that at all a good plan. Lynette never walked out alone very far, and father didn't like me to do it either. So then Denys got out a map.

"Look here!" he said. "I've been thinking that each of these roads leads to villages and towns, and those are the places to get to. Now we'll see from this map the nearest one that we haven't been to, and we'll walk to that."

So we all looked, and after a great deal of talking we found that there was a village or town called Rockwell about five miles off.

Well, we started off. We were very good walkers, and Lynette had walked ten miles before this. Denys said that the following Saturday we must take another road in the same way. I suppose we had gone about three miles, when Aylwin suddenly climbed up into a hedge to get some specially fine-looking blackberries. And then he gave a yell, which sent us all rushing to him. There in the ditch, almost hidden by dead bracken, was a piece of black-and-white shawl! We scraped it all out, and found the four trousers with my big stitches in them. We looked at each other, not knowing whether to be filled with joy or horror.

"We're on his track at last!" said Denys.

"Just let us sit down and think it out," I suggested, for I knew Lynette wanted a rest now and then, and so did I. The boys always walk so very fast when they first set out.

"The question is, how did they come there?" said Aylwin.

"Perhaps," said Lynette, looking fearfully round her, though it was broad daylight, "a murderer and robber met him, and wanted his clothes, and so he killed him, and buried him just here!"

"Yes, and Andy kicked his trousers off in his last dying effort," said Denys mockingly, "and the robber went on his way, dressed in a night-cap and blue cloak! That's a very likely thing to have happened!"

"I don't think Andy could have taken his trousers off himself," I said. "I sewed them on so very tight. Besides, look at this—it is cut."

I showed them a great slit right across one piece. Denys looked at it with screwed-up eyes like a detective.

"Yes," he said, "this is one other bit of evidence we have collected. I was thinking that Andy might have torn them off with his teeth, but this is clearly the work of a knife."

"And a knife means," said Aylwin solemnly, "that a man is in the plot."

"He has been stolen!" I cried excitedly. "Now let us track the thief."

I got up from the ground and was eager to walk on, but the boys wouldn't move yet. They turned up all the ditch, they climbed over the hedge, and then they came upon something else—a piece of orange-peel.

"Now," Denys said, "this makes us quite sure that a tramp has been here and taken Andy off. Only tramps eat oranges; country people can't buy oranges to eat, and they're always too busy."

THERE IN THE DITCH WAS A PIECE OF BLACK-AND-WHITE SHAWL.

"On market days they could buy oranges," I said. You see I knew all about the country markets; the boys did not.

"Well, let's move on!" said Aylwin. "We know that Andy came along this road and no other. I dare say we shall find him in Rockwell."

So we went on in very good spirits. Three miles had shown us a good deal; the other two might show us Andy himself. We were all a little tired when we got to Rockwell. It was a big village, and had about ten shops in a little High Street. We went into a sweet-shop and had some ginger-beer, and then we asked the woman if any one kept donkeys in the neighbourhood.

She was rather a stupid woman, but after a lot of thinking, she said the vicar had a very old one, and that was the only donkey she had ever seen, and she had been there forty years. So then we knew she was no good, and we left her. And then Denys found out the police-station, and then we had a long talk to a police-sergeant there, who wrote out all particulars and didn't chaff us, and we gave our names and addresses and came away.

But we were determined to find out anything that was to be found out, so we all separated for a quarter of an hour, and then we met at the sweet-shop again, and walked home. Denys settled this. We each took a different street, and asked every person we met, man, woman, boy, and girl, whether they had seen a black donkey. I was rather shy at first, but I never altered my way of putting it, which I thought was very polite.

"Please excuse me, but have you seen a black donkey lately? We lost him a week ago, and he has come along this way."

Sometimes they stared, sometimes they laughed, and once a very rude boy said to me:

"Yes, if 'ee goes home an' looks in glass, 'ee 'll see a black donkey with red 'air."

That was me, because I'm wearing black for granny! But not one of us got the answer we wanted, and when we met again we confessed to each other that Andy could never have got as far as Rockwell.

So we very sadly and sorrowfully went home; and when we spread out on the dining-room table the four black-and-white trousers, Aunt Mildred quite vexed us by going into a fit of laughter, and Denys said to her crossly:

"It may be comedy to you; it is tragedy to us!"

And then she begged our pardons.

It was tragedy; and though we went to Captain Rogers's farewell tea-party, and had no end of fun, the loss of Andy hung like a black cloud over us.

As Aylwin said:

"It's worse than a death, for it goes on all the time."

And I suppose the bit that brought no comfort to us was that it was all our own fault. Poor Andy had been patient and long-suffering ever since we had had him. If we kept him on the trot all day, he never complained. But when it came to dressing him up in an old woman's night-cap, and expecting him to dance on his hind legs, he had had enough of us, and he went off, and I believe he fully intended to leave us altogether, and never come back to us again.

We were dreadfully sorry when Captain and Mrs. Rogers left us. There were no other grown-ups that we really liked, but I mean to send Captain Rogers this book when I have finished it, and he says that perhaps he will get it printed for me. I must go on writing it till I get to a happy ending, because a proper book always ends nicely. I hate books with miserable endings. If I read them through once, I never do again, because however happy the children are at the beginning, I know everything is no good if one of them—and generally the nicest one—is going to die.

And that is a strange thing, because the Bible tells us that it isn't a miserable thing to die; it is "far better." And heaven is a lovely place—all our hymns tell us that—and it ought to be a happy ending when children die. But it isn't; it makes me roar with crying to read about it. And I know, from how I felt when Denys was ill, that I should be perfectly miserable if any of us were to die, even if we were quite ready for it. I suppose mother would be glad to see us. It's all right for those who go, but it's those who stay behind that feel it.

I went to Annie on Monday and took her out in the chair. She was very delighted; and we took a few parcels for Mrs. Ribbon as well, because Tom was laid up with a bad foot—and she didn't know how to get them sent.

But I was rather unhappy about Annie; she seems to feel the cold so much, and I'm sure she hasn't warm enough clothes. I think her grandparents are very poor. I spoke to Aunt Mildred about it, and she said it would be nice if Lynette and I made her a warm frock and some warm petticoats for a Christmas present. I didn't feel quite pleased at the idea, for I do hate work so, but when I thought of Annie, I was disgusted with myself, and I got Aunt Mildred to start us at it at once. She said if we worked in the evening after tea, she would work with us and tell us a story at the same time. So that sounded delicious, and even Lynette said she would like to do it.

We began yesterday evening. We sat in the schoolroom, and the boys listened too. They roasted some chestnuts on the bars of the grate.

"I don't see why boys should never be made to sew," said Lynette. "If I had boys of my own, I should make them do their own mending. Why should their aunts and mothers and sisters do it for them?"

"When I have girls of my own," said Aylwin, who always loved arguing, "I shall make them go out and earn their bread. Why should their uncles and fathers and brothers make money to keep them idle at home?"

"Well," said Aunt Mildred, "the world is altering strangely. Girls do earn money nowadays, and no mending gets done at all. But I think your father likes old-fashioned ways best, so we women will continue to sit at home and sew, and the boys must be prepared to earn money for us. Now, what kind of story shall I tell you?"

"Something about fairies," said Puff.

"Battles and hairbreadth escapes," said Denys and Aylwin.

"Princesses in a tower, and secret passages," said Lynette.

"Could you tell us about the knight and his motto in the church chancel?" I said.

"'Semper fidelis, semper paratus,'" said Aunt Mildred slowly. "Yes, I think I could do that."

Everybody wanted to hear about the knight. But Aunt Mildred said she must have five minutes to think about it before we began. So Lynette and I said we must have five minutes' rest from our needlework. And we got down on the hearth-rug and ate some of the boys' chestnuts. The fire was blazing up, and we all felt so cosy and comfortable that we began to think of poor Andy again, who might be dragging a heavy coster cart out in the dark and cold, and getting beaten by a drunken coster.

"If he was only with us!" sighed Lynette.

"He couldn't be here," Aylwin said. "It's a rotten affair altogether; we've got a saddle and harness and cart, and no animal to use them. And if the police did their duty properly, they would have found him long ago."

"God knows where he is," said Puff suddenly. "I'm especking him home very soon. God seemed to tell me this morning He would send him nex' week if I was a good boy!"

We never laughed at Puff now. He had got one answer to his prayers, why should he not get another? And I knew he had bigger faith than we had, though we were praying too as hard as we could.

We were all looking rather solemn as we munched our chestnuts, and then Aunt Mildred said she was ready, and Lynette and I went back to the table and took up our work again. I was making Annie's frock—it was a warm dark blue serge—and Lynette was making a thick flannel petticoat for her. I was very glad that Aunt Mildred was going to tell us about the knight, because I wanted to be kept faithful to Annie, and not think it a hardship to make her a frock. And it would remind me of the motto.

Aunt Mildred was mending some of the boys' stockings. She looked up at us with a smile, and then began.

CHAPTER XVI

OUR KNIGHT'S STORY

"ONCE upon a time there lived a knight called 'Sir Roger Dereker.' He had fought his king's battles from the time he had been a little boy of fourteen, when he had gone out with the king himself, as his page. He was the bravest knight about the king's court; he did not seem to know what fear was, and everybody who knew him loved him. For though he was bold and brave he was gentleness itself with women and children, and with any one who needed his pity and help. He lived in a strong castle not very far from his king, and he had a young wife to whom he was devoted—"

"Oh!" I cried. "You must tell us how he got her, Aunt Mildred; and please make it very exciting."

"Well, one bitterly cold winter night he was riding home with his page behind him. The rain and sleet were driving furiously into his face. His hands were so cold he could hardly hold his rein, and his good horse, called Goldenhawk, could only move at a foot's pace, for they were passing through a black forest, with gloomy pines, and a mass of undergrowth obstructed their progress. Suddenly he heard a crashing through the bushes behind him, and a snow-white horse dashed frantically past him with the form of a woman upon his back. She was covered from head to foot in a dark blue cloak, and seemed to be trying in vain to pull her horse up.

"'After!' Roger cried to his page. 'She is being carried away against her will!'

"He put spurs into his own steed, and he and his page pursued the runaway till they had left the forest behind them. Now a great plain stretched before them, and in the distance were the twinkling lights of the good knight's castle.

"So fast had the lady's horse fled across the plain, that they did not reach her till she had drawn up before the portcullis of the castle. The white horse was covered with foam, and the lady was breathless and exhausted.

"Sir Roger rode forward and saluted her.

"'Madame, it is a terrible night, and you are close to my door, which is always open to shelter strangers in need. Will you do me the pleasure of partaking of my hospitality?'

"The lady drew her cloak closer round her, and said in the softest tone possible:

"'I thank you, sir. I am far from home—in truth, I am homeless, and I know not where my servants are. Some one is pursuing me; he has killed my father and burnt my home. I need protection.'

"Sir Roger blew his horn, the portcullis was raised, and the knight and lady had barely passed inside before, with a thundering roar, a body of mounted men swept up to the gate.

"The leader called out in tones of fury:

"'That lady belongs to me. She is my promised wife!'

"Sir Roger vouchsafed no answer. He took his fair visitor to his mother's apartments, and did not see her again till supper-time. Her pursuers were not strong enough to storm his castle, so with many threats and curses they retreated.

"When Sir Roger met his guest at supper, he was startled at her wonderful beauty. She was quite a young girl, in a white robe embroidered with gold. Her hair was a rich brown, falling in rippling waves round her sweet pale face; she had deep blue eyes with long curved lashes, and her face was a picture of innocent beauty. As their eyes met, the faintest pink blush rose in her cheeks. She took her seat at his table in silence.

"But after the meal was over, he led the way into his favourite sitting-room, and beside a blazing fire she told him her history. Her sweet eyes were full of tears as she repeated how her father had fallen in a furious fight with his greatest enemy, Baron Dacre, who had demanded her hand and had been refused. She told him how, through the treachery of a servant, the Baron gained an entrance into their courtyard, and a terrible fight ensued. When at last her home was in flames, she fled alone, mounted on her white steed, and the Baron and his men instantly gave chase to her.

"'How can I thank you, sir,' she said, as she raised her eyes to his, 'for befriending and sheltering a maid who is now an orphan and an outcast?'

"'By giving me the right to protect and shelter you evermore,' was Sir Roger's earnest reply.

"And that was how he wooed and won his bride."

We all clapped our hands as a kind of applause.

Then Aunt Mildred went on:

"Troublous times came for our good knight. His king was surrounded by treacherous courtiers, and this very Baron Dacre rose up against him with a large faction of discontented subjects, and a civil war began to rage.

"On the very eve of Sir Roger's marriage with the Lady Gwendoline, a messenger arrived at his gates, calling him to arms. Sir Roger tore himself away from his beautiful bride, and when for one moment she protested, he said, 'My sweetheart, I am bound to my king with the cords of honour and of love. I love you not the less because I love him first. I would not sully the shield of my knighthood by failing him when he desires my services.'

"And so he rode away and was absent for four long months, when he returned to her covered with wounds and with glory.

"For a time, he rested peacefully at home, but one day his castle was assaulted by this Baron Dacre with a large number of followers, and he was hard put to it to defend his wife and belongings. In the very midst of the fray, a messenger entered the castle by the secret passage that led underground for a mile, and had its exit in the middle of the forest. It was a call to attend upon the king that very hour.

"For one moment he hesitated; he knew if he went, his home would be taken and destroyed.

"He looked at his wife.

"'Sweetheart, I must away to my king; it is a summons for me.'

"She rose to the occasion.

"'And I, with your faithful servants, will hold the castle until your return.'

"'Bravo!' exclaimed Denys.

"Sir Roger girded on his sword and departed by the secret passage with the messenger who came. He told his wife if hard-pressed, she must also take refuge in it. And if she reached the forest, there was at that end a cave where she could remain in safety till he rejoined her.

"He went to his king, who was having an important consultation with his nobles and wished to ask Sir Roger's advice upon a knotty point. He gave it; and then, happening to raise his eyes, the king saw from his castle window a mighty column of fire rising up into the sky. He asked the reason of it, and Sir Roger, standing before him with compressed lips and pale cheeks, made answer:

"'Sire, that is my castle, and the destruction of it has been completed in my absence by my enemy.'

"'Did you know aught of this before you came?'

"'I was in the midst of my defence when the king's messenger came.'

"'And you left your wife to perish?'

"'She was going to defend it as best she could, and I told her of a place of safety in case the odds were too great against her.'

"'Sir Roger,' said the king, 'I shall not forget this night. Go, and may God have saved your brave wife from death.'

"He went, and found his wife in the cave in the midst of a little company of wounded retainers. She was, without a thought of self, binding up and dressing their wounds. But when her husband clasped her in his arms, she fainted dead away. And he discovered that an arrow had pierced her left arm and was causing her agonising pain."

"Don't make her die, Aunt Mildred!" I cried.

"It was long before the brave knight got reconciled to another home, but the king gave him a much bigger property than he had had before, and years passed by. He had a little son, a boy who was the joy of his heart. And it was his desire to train him up as a soldier and servant of his king.

"At length in an evil day, after Sir Roger and his men had just returned from fighting their king's battles in foreign lands, they brought back with them that dreadful disease, the black plague, into the castle. First one servant sickened, then another, then Lady Gwendoline and her little son fell victims to it, and the knight sank on his knees and besought mercy from God above.

"At this identical moment the king's messenger again appeared, summoning him to attend his king on an expedition into a far country.

"The knight made not a sigh or murmur, but left his dying wife and son, and it was not till two weeks elapsed that his king heard of his faithfulness. They had a severe campaign before them, and Sir Roger was enabled at the most crucial moment to save the life of his king and turn the tide of battle from near defeat to a glorious victory. But he was sore wounded himself, and told his page when the fight was over:

"'Bear me back home, and it may be that my wife and boy have recovered. I would see them before I die.'

"They took him back, and marvelled that he reached his home in safety. As he tottered into his hall, he beheld to his infinite joy his wife and son with open arms receiving him. They had recovered, owing to a skilful herbalist who tended them night and day.

"But for many weeks the brave knight lay between life and death. At last he too took up life again, but his health was shattered and his strength had departed. For some years he lived happily, seeing his son grow into a brave, handsome soldier. And then, one awful howling stormy night, he heard a knocking at his gates.

"He was an old man now, his sight was dim, and his hearing dull, but he tottered to the door.

"'It is my king. Let me receive him and give him the honour that is due to him!'

"His servants tried to keep him back from the bitter cold of the courtyard, but he pressed on.

"'My king! My king!'

"And though his followers would not believe it, it was even so.

"The king had been betrayed, and was fleeing for his life. He knew one loyal subject would receive him, and it was to him he turned.

"The old knight led him into his warm comfortable hall, and then fell at his feet.

"'Oh, sire, I have dreamt of this honour, but never thought I would realise it. Enter into the dwelling that is rightly yours, for the owner of it is your humble and devoted servant, and all that he has belongs to his king!'

"When the king stooped down with tears in his eyes to raise his faithful knight, he found his spirit had departed. His last thought and breath had been spent, as they always had been all his life, in faithful loyalty and love to his royal master.

"And the king caused the motto to be engraved upon the shields of the Derekers for evermore—'Semper fidelis, semper paratus.'"

We were quite silent for a minute or two after Aunt Mildred ended. My heart was thumping, as it always does when I feel roused up.

"He was something like a knight!" said Denys.

"Oh!" said Aylwin. "If only we lived in those good old days!"

Lynette was crying.

"Poor old knight! The king ought to have hugged and kissed him for being such a dear."

I said nothing—I couldn't, but Aunt Mildred looked across at me and said:

"Well, Grisel, your eyes are blazing. Do you like it?"

I nodded; then I said with a little effort:

"We can be like that now—and I shall be."

"And so shall I," said Denys, looking across at me. He and I understood each other.

Aunt Mildred never pointed the moral, that's why we like her stories. They always inspire us, but she never tells us how they speak to us. We find that out for ourselves. I was so bubbling over with it, that I put down my work and dashed out of the room into my bedroom. Then I got down upon my knees and spoke to my King. And I asked Him to make me, through thick and thin, even if I had to suffer, a faithful ready servant of His, and to let me glory in it. And I really meant it.

Denys loved Aunt Mildred's story. I went into the church the next day to fetch father's surplice to be mended. It was Saturday, and to my astonishment I found Denys kneeling by the knight's tomb. He jumped up as if he had been shot, and I pretended not to have seen him kneeling, because I knew he wouldn't like it. I came up to the tomb and looked at the knight.

"Were you looking to see if he was really like Aunt Mildred's knight?" I said, not knowing quite what to say.

And then he spoke straight out.

"I was vowing a vow," he said.

I was awfully interested.

"Do tell me, and I won't tell any one," I said.

He pointed to the motto on the shield.

"I have vowed to be that, God helping me." And then he marched straight out of the church.

I was determined not to be behind him, so I knelt down again, though I had done it last night, only I put it in proper vow words this time, and then I went indoors feeling ready for anything.

We began getting ready for Christmas now. Every day we hoped to hear news of Andy, but we never did, and we missed him dreadfully. Father was certain he had been stolen. We were talking about it one evening. Lynette and I were still working away at Annie's clothes, and the boys were making Christmas cards. They said they could make them much better than the cards Mrs. Ribbon was selling for Christmas, and of course it was much cheaper. Aylwin could draw very well, he could copy anything, and Denys is very good at flags. He gets a piece of cardboard and colours it all over like a flag; and he has got a sheet of all the flags in the world—it came out of the "Boy's Own Paper." So he just copies them, and puts "A Merry Christmas to You" upon them, and then they're ready to send.

Aylwin was drawing a donkey, and so of course he began to talk about Andy.

"I wonder," he said, "if the gipsies have been about and stolen Andy? Mrs. Ribbon told me to-day that they sometimes come to Lemworth at Christmas-time. There's to be another kind of fair there. Perhaps if we went to it we should find Andy there."

"They aren't such duffers," said Denys gloomily. "They wouldn't bring him into this neighbourhood again. Of course, if they did steal him, they would sell him to some one else."

"I tell you who would be likely to steal him," I said. "Not the gipsies—they seem to have given up stealing in these days—but that horrid swearing man with the ragged donkeys. I heard from Bob Tapson that he goes to a seaside place in this very county every summer, and makes a nice sum out of them; and he starves them all the winter time."

The boys seemed quite struck with this idea.

"Of course we ought to find him out. Where does he live?"

"Somewhere the other side of Lemworth," I said. "You ask Bob; he'll tell you."

Aylwin wanted to rush off then and there, but it was too late, and they had to wait till the next morning.

And then they began to plan what they would do.

Denys said:

"I expect if we find Andy there, the scoundrel will have dyed him another colour. How can we identify him? He'll declare, of course, he belongs to him."

Then we began to think over Andy's marks, and at last we remembered that one of his ears had a tiny slit in it.

"I hope that will be proof enough," Denys said. "You see we may have to fight it out before a judge."

"Andy is such a rotter, he'll never answer his name as he ought," said Aylwin. "He would just as soon go to the thief as to us when called."

"And perhaps we shall have a long lawsuit that will cost heaps and heaps of money," said Denys again. "It will be called the 'Donkey case,' and will fill columns in the newspaper."

Lynette began to giggle at the idea.

Then I suggested:

"If you could find out quietly about Andy, it would be best. And when you were quite sure that it was he, couldn't you steal him back again? That wouldn't be wrong, would it?"

"Of course it wouldn't. We could visit the stables in the dead of night. It would be rather exciting."

"You see, he's such an ass," said Aylwin, "that he might take it into his head not to come with us. He might remember his night-cap."

"I'd make him come fast enough if I once got hold of him," said Denys. "But after all, the man may not have him, or he may have sold him."

"Anyhow, it is worth trying," I said.

And they all thought it was.

CHAPTER XVII

FOUND

I REALLY believe this is going to be my last chapter. I may write another volume next year, but I mean to send this to Captain Rogers, because I promised I would.

I must first go back to the day after we were talking about Andy. Denys went to Bob Tapson before breakfast, and came back with the donkey man's address, and we asked father what he thought. He didn't seem very hopeful, but he told the boys that they might go to Lemworth by train on the first day of their holidays, and then walk out to see this man. He lived three miles the other side of Lemworth. Lynette and I wanted to go too, but father wouldn't let us.

The boys' school broke up on the 20th of December. So the very next morning they started for Lemworth, and Lynette and I went down through the fields to the station to see them off.

Lynette gave them a crooked sixpence for luck; Mrs. Ribbon had given it to her in some change.

"And we won't expect you back till you find Andy!" I cried. "Oh, I wish girls could do what boys do!"

But they can't, so we had to come home. This is a very busy week; Aunt Caroline is going to spend Christmas with us. I think she and Aunt Mildred are both going to live with us after Christmas; and that will be very nice, for Aunt C. will look after the house and servants, and Aunt Mildred after us. At least, that is how we have settled it, but Aunt Mildred says that she will in that case have the heaviest burden. And we don't think that is very nice of her.

Lynette and I have helped to stone raisins for the Christmas puddings, and we have done up packets of tea and sugar for some of father's old people, and we have been making things for a big Christmas-tree we are going to have in the village schoolroom for all the school-children.

We had been so busy helping Aunt Mildred with it all that we had hardly any time to make our own presents. For a long time it had been an understood thing every Christmas that we all make our presents for each other. We never buy them. It is much more fun. This year Lynette and I were making a sermon-cover for father. It was of black velvet lined with black silk, and had black silk cord all round it. Lynette was making the cover, and I was doing father's initials in gold silk. Aunt Mildred had drawn it out for me. Then I was working a nightdress-case for Aunt Mildred, and Lynette was working her some little mats for her dressing-table. Lynette and I were making some reins for Puff out of red braid, with little bells. And I was covering a long cardboard box for Aylwin with penny stamps, and then I varnished them over, for him to keep his foreign stamps in. Lynette was making him a photograph-frame with sealing-wax and fir-cones. You gum the fir-cones on, and drop sealing-wax between them, and you varnish it all over, and it looks awfully pretty. My present to Denys I kept a dead secret, and wouldn't even let Lynette know about it. She was knitting him a tie in coarse red cotton.

All this took a long time, and when I was interrupted, I felt very cross. Only I tried to remember that doing things to help other people was my King's order, and I wanted to be ready to do it. When I think about this, I feel quite happy. It doesn't matter how often I am interrupted, if it is He who sends me.

Lynette and I had a lovely morning over our presents, and we weren't interrupted once. We stayed in the schoolroom and did them, and were very glad that the boys were away, because we were able to get on with their presents.

After dinner, Aunt Mildred took us and Puff to the nearest wood, and we got a lot of ivy and moss for the church decorations. It was lovely in the wood; so still and calm, though it was very cold. We kept thinking about the boys, but we knew they might not come home till eight o'clock, which was the time the last train came in.

We came back in time for tea, and then we sat and worked at our presents again in the schoolroom. But eight o'clock came, and half-past, and nine o'clock, but no boys. Lynette and I had to go to bed. Aunt Mildred said she wasn't anxious, but father was. He said he did not mean them to stay out all night, and there was no train to bring them back, and he hoped that nothing had happened to them.

Of course Lynette and I knew that a lot might have happened to them. We began talking it over while we were undressing. Lynette said the donkey man might have murdered them, and hid their bodies under the floor. I said that they might have found Andy, and run off with him, and that then the man might have caught them and taken them to the nearest police-station, and charged them with stealing his donkey. And they might not be believed, and then would be put in prison till they could be properly tried. And then Lynette said that perhaps the donkey man might have locked them up somewhere till he got away with Andy.

We talked over all the dangers that we could think of, and then at last we were so sleepy that we went off to sleep and forgot all about them.

When we woke up the next morning, and heard from Emma that the boys were not back, we felt dreadfully excited and rather frightened. Father and Aunt Mildred looked quite worried at breakfast, and father kept saying:

"I ought not to have let them go. Perhaps I had better go into Lemworth."

And Aunt Mildred said: "We will wait till this afternoon. I daresay they missed the train, and slept somewhere till this morning."

Lynette and I couldn't settle to anything; we kept running to the gate and looking down the road to see if there were any signs of them.

And then, just as we were really sitting down to work at our presents, they burst in upon us.

We were delighted.

Lynette screamed, and danced round the room. "We thought you were dead! We thought you were murdered!" she cried.

"Where's Andy?" I asked breathlessly.

"Guess," said Denys solemnly.

"Oh, he isn't dead!"

We felt an awful fear, because the boys looked so grave.

And then Denys said very slowly:

"In the stable downstairs."

We simply yelled with delight, and tore down to see him. And father and Aunt Mildred came running out, and Emma and cook; and Puff plunged into the stable, and we found him with his arms clasped round Andy, hugging and kissing him like he does Aunt Mildred.

We could hardly believe it was Andy. He looked dusty and thin and very tired. He just turned his head and glanced at us, and then went on munching some hay that Baldwin had given him.

That's the worst of donkeys; they seem so calm and indifferent. He didn't understand our feelings a bit. I couldn't help wishing he would get up and dance round with us to show he was glad to be back again.

"Who had him? Where did you find him? How did you come home? Where did you sleep last night? Why didn't you come back yesterday?"

Lynette and I fired off these questions, but father stopped us. He was really quite as pleased as we were, but he found the boys were both rather hungry, so he sent them into the house to get some food. And it was while they were eating it in the dining-room that they told us all about themselves.

"We've had such adventures!" said Aylwin. "You'd better get your old book and write it down, Grisel, for I'm sure it will be awful fun to read!"

"I'll begin from the beginning," said Denys; and then he began:

"We got to Lemworth all right, and started out to walk to Jem Harvey's house—that's the old chap's name. It was rather a long three miles, and seemed the other end of nowhere. It was a regular tumble-down shanty on the edge of a common, and we saw the donkeys grazing on it. Then we took counsel, and set very quietly to work."

"Just as if we were stalking deer or buffaloes," put in Aylwin. "We crept along under the shadow of an old boundary hedge, and had a squint at all the donkeys without any one seeing us."

"We counted five donkeys, but no Andy amongst them," continued Denys, "but of course we felt he might be shut up somewhere. So the next thing was to examine the outhouses and sheds, and this was rather difficult. For as we came near, we saw a man chopping wood outside with a pipe in his mouth."

"So we together," interrupted Aylwin, "at last laid our plans. Go ahead, Denys, and don't be so slow."

"We marched up quite boldly to him. 'Good afternoon,' I said. 'We've come to see you on a matter of business.'"

"And I searched him through and through with my piercing eye," put in Aylwin, "and he didn't so much as blink an eyelash."

"He looked at us in a cheeky kind of way. 'So you said once before,' he said; ''twarn't much of a business we did arter all.'

"'We've unfortunately lost our donkey,' I said, 'and we'd like to see some of yours in case we have to buy another.'"

"'But mine weren't good enough by long chalks for 'ee,' he said, with a kind of grin, which made me at once suspect him.

"'Perhaps you have got some better ones by this time,' we said.

"And then he knocked out the ashes in his pipe and led us to a shed. 'I do happen to have as pretty a crittur as ever ye saw, and goes like the wind she do, and took the prize at Lincoln show two year runnin'.'

"He shuffled inside the shed, and there in the straw was a very small grey donkey. We looked sharply round—"

"I saw it first," interrupted Aylwin. "I had my detective's cold clear eye travelling round, and spotted it instantly."

Denys went on as if he had not heard him:

"In the corner on a nail hung Andy's blue cloak."

There was quite a sensation amongst us at this. We all exclaimed, and I couldn't help saying:

"There! I was right after all, then. Why didn't we think of him before?"

"What did you say?" Aunt Mildred asked.

"We didn't say anything at first; we pretended not to see it, and we talked about the grey donkey, and said we were afraid she was too small for us. You see, I knew he was an ugly customer from the way he kept leering at us, and he smelt of drink. I nudged Aylwin to hold his tongue, and after a lot of jaw, and when we had gone round his premises and saw no other place where Andy could be hidden, we took our departure; and then we let him have it. We just got away from him a few yards and I said:

"'Where did you get that blue cloak in your shed, you scoundrel, and who cut the black-and-white shawl to bits? And don't you think us greenhorns, for we're going straight to the police and will put them on your track. There's one chance for saving yourself from gaol, and that is to take Andy in at once and tie him to the lamppost outside Lemworth market. We'll give you till four in the afternoon to do it, and we promise not to split on you. If he isn't there, the police will come straight off and take possession of your place at five o'clock, and there'll be no escape for you. That blue coat has betrayed you. It's stolen from us.'

"Of course he was awfully riled. He swore, and cursed, and said he picked up that blue coat on the road, and he'd have us arrested for blasting his character. We just told him it was all tommy-rot, and he couldn't trifle with us, for all the police in every town and village for miles round knew about our lost donkey and his blue cloak. And then we came off and pelted back to Lemworth as hard as we could go."

"Let me have a turn at it," said Aylwin, who never can keep quiet when any one else is talking. So Denys shut up, and he went on:

"We had our sandwiches and a bottle of ginger-beer at a shop when we got to the town, and all the time we were trying to arrange plans. Of course it was rotten telling that old thief we wouldn't split on him, for we gave him plenty of time to clear out before the police arrived. Denys said we were in honour bound to wait till four o'clock before we informed the police. Now then comes the exciting part. After our lunch we walked about, and then got tired of the shops and streets, and turned up a country lane. We had gone about a mile, I think, when suddenly we caught sight of a boy huddled up in a ditch, and he was groaning. He was a regular tramp, and at first I said, 'Come on and leave him.'

"And then we thought it would be very rough on him if he was hurt, so we shook him up and asked him what was the matter, and he showed us his leg, which was cut in a most ghastly way. But we couldn't make head or tail of his story. He said his guv'nor had thrashed him, and then he'd fallen from the cart when his guv'nor had been on the booze, and he seemed quite stupid in his head. He had bandaged his leg up in a kind of way, but it had bled an awful lot, so we got out our handkerchiefs and did the job in a much better style, and then we told him we would take him back to the town.

"We asked him where he lived, and he said, 'With the guv'nor', but he wouldn't tell us where that was, and he said he was 'never goin' back to him no more.' So we said we would take him to the infirmary, and then he could get his leg properly seen to. He seemed quite willing, but it was no joke carrying him. At last we crossed our hands and made him sit with his arms round our shoulders, and we carried him like that all the way.

"Denys said to me, 'It's a pity we haven't Andy here; didn't the good Samaritan have a donkey?'

"'Of course he did,' I said. And then the boy suddenly raised his head and looked at us, and in that moment we all recognised each other."

"Who was he?" Lynette asked breathlessly.

"Why, the boy who belonged to Jem Harvey, of course! So we said quite coolly to him:

"'Don't be afraid. We don't bear you a grudge for stealing our donkey, but your master is going to gaol for it. We've found it all out.'

"He looked quite scared.

"'Twas the guv'nor,' he said, 'but I knewed there would be trouble!'

"'Where did you see our donkey last?' asked Denys.

"And then he told us all about it. They had met Andy tearing along the road, and Jem had stopped him and caught him. And then he made this boy Ned ride him behind the cart till they got to a wood, and they went in there and stayed till it was dark. Of course they undressed Andy. Then, when it was dark, and no one could see, they took him home with them. And the very next day Jem took him away to a pal of his who lives at a place called Tannerton. Ned said he was keeping him till he could get a purchaser for him.

"So we asked Ned exactly where this man lived, and he told us. And he said he'd led such a dog's life lately, and had been so ill-used, that he'd run away, and wasn't going back. He was an orphan, and didn't belong to Jem at all by rights. We were wild to get at Andy, but we had to take him to the infirmary first. We found out that Tannerton was five miles off, so we felt we really couldn't walk there. And we were wondering whether we could hire a trap, when we discovered that a baker's cart was going to the village, and he said he'd give us a lift. So we got up and had a jolly time going there, and we told the baker everything, and he said he knew the man we were looking for; he was a knife-grinder and tin-pedlar, and lived away from the village with a wife who bullied him.

"'But you won't get nothin' out of them,' he said; 'they be proper queer customers.'

"It was getting almost dark when we got to Tannerton, and then we remembered that we would miss our train, but we couldn't go back when we were so near to Andy. Now you can go ahead, Denys."

Denys began at once. "We were rather afraid that Jem might have come off to his pal to get Andy or to hide him somewhere else—but we thought we must risk it. When the baker put us down in the village, he pointed out to us the house. We were thankful it was dusk, for we were quite determined to take Andy by stealth if we found him. So we crept up to the little house, and heard some wrangling going on inside. We found our way round to their back-yard, and there, tied in a wretched tumble-down shed, with a broken door, was Andy! I can tell you we didn't lose any time! We just cut his rope and led him out. As ill luck would have it, the man came out as we were going off with him; and then came the exciting part of our adventures. He yelled after us, 'Stop thief!'

"We both got on Andy's back, and galloped through the village like mad! We had about half a dozen people racing after us soon, and shouting, for they couldn't see who we were in the dusk, and we felt as if we were being pursued by Red Indians. When we were well out of their reach we took it easier, and we were a good time before we reached Lemworth. We were so afraid that Jem might be lurking about that we daren't stay there. We had lost our train, and we thought we had better push on."