food, and the small fry—especially of the stickleback—being thrown into heaps, to be sold for manure.

“Will they come this way when they have done drawing the pond?” asked Mildred, in some fear, as she saw them moving about.

“I think they will sweep the shallow waters, there to the left, for more stickleback,” replied Oliver. “They will make up a load, to sell before the heat of the day, before they set about anything else.”

Oliver was right. All the three repaired to the shallow water, and stood among the reeds, so as to be half hidden. The children could see, however, that when little George came down the garden, shouting to them to come to breakfast, the strangers took heed to the child. They turned their heads for a moment towards the garden, and then spoke together and laughed.

“There, now!” cried Oliver, vexed: “that is all because we forgot to go to breakfast. So much for my not having a watch! Mother need not have sent George to make such a noise; but, if I had had a watch, he would not have come at all; and these people would not have been put in mind of us.”

“You will soon be able to have a watch now, like the boys in Holland,” said Mildred. “Your alabaster things will change away for a watch; will not they? But we might not have remembered breakfast, if you had had a watch.”

“We are forgetting it now,” said Oliver, catching up George and running to the house, followed by Mildred, who could not help feeling as if Roger was at her heels.

They were surprised to find how late it was. Their father was already gone with Pastor Dendel’s load of manure. Their mother only waited to kiss them before she went, and to tell them the their father meant to be back as soon as he could; and that meantime, neighbour Gool had promised to keep an eye on the mill. If anything happened to frighten them, Oliver or Ailwin had only to set the mill-sails agoing, and neighbour Gool and his men would be with them presently. She did not think, however, that anything would happen in the little time that their father would be away.

“I will tell you what we will do!” cried Oliver, starting from his chair, after he had been eating his bread and milk, in silence, for some time after his mother’s departure. “Let us dress up a figure to look like father, and set him at the mill-window; so that those Redfurns shall not find out that he is away. Won’t that be good?”

“Put him on the mill-steps. They may not look up at the window.”

“The mill-steps, then. Where is father’s old hat? Put it on the broom there, and see how it looks. Run up to the mill, dear, and bring his jacket—and his apron,” he shouted as his sister ran.

Mildred brought both, and they dressed up the broom.

“That will never do,” said Mildred. “Look how the sleeves hang; and how he holds his head! It is not a bit like a man.”

“’Tis a good scarecrow,” declared Ailwin. “I have seen many a worse scarecrow than that.”

“But this is to scare the Redfurns, and they are far wiser than crows,” said Mildred. “Look how George pulls at the apron, and tugs at the broomstick behind! It does not scare even him.”

“It will look very different on the steps—in the open air,” Oliver declared. “A bunch or two of straw in the sleeves, and under the jacket, will make it seem all alive.”

And he carried it out, and tied it upon the mill-steps. It was no easy matter to fasten it so as to make it look at all like a man naturally mounting stairs. The more difficult it was, however, the more they all became interested in the business. Mildred brought straw, and Ailwin tied a knot here, and another knot there, while Oliver cocked the hat in various directions upon the head, till they all forgot what they were dressing up the figure for. The reason popped into Ailwin’s head again, when she had succeeded in raising the right arm to the rail, in a very life-like manner.

“There!” said she, stepping backwards to view her work, “that makes a very good master for me. I will obey him in everything he bids me till master comes home.”

At the same moment, she walked backwards against something, and little George clung screaming to Mildred’s knees. Roger had spread his arms for Ailwin to walk back into; and Stephen was behind, leaning against the cow-shed. They had been watching all that the party had been doing, and, having overheard every word, had found out the reason.

The children saw at once how very foolish they had been; and the thought confused them so much, that they did not know what to do next. Poor Ailwin, who could never learn wisdom, more or less, now made matters worse by all she said and did. Stout and strong as she was, she could do nothing, for Roger had taken the hint she had given by walking backwards, with her arms crossed behind her: he had pinioned her. She cried out to Oliver to run up, and set the mill-sails agoing, to bring neighbour Gool. Stephen took this second hint. He quietly swung Oliver off the steps, sent down his scarecrow after him, and himself took his seat on the threshold of the mill. There he sat, laughing to see how Ailwin wearied herself with struggles, while Roger, by merely hanging on her arms, prevented her getting free. When, however, Oliver flew at the boy, and struck him some fierce blows, Stephen came down, drove the little girl and the baby into the house, and locked them in, and then went to help Roger with his strong arm.

It was clear to Mildred what she ought to do. Crying as she was, she put George in a corner, with some playthings, to keep him from the fire till she came to him again, and then mounted the stairs, as quickly as her trembling limbs would let her,—first to her mother’s room, and then out upon the roof. She tied a large red handkerchief of her mother’s upon her father’s Sunday walking-stick, and then waved it, as high as she could hold it, above her head, while she considered how she could fasten it; for it would never do to leave George alone below for many minutes. Perhaps neighbour Gool had seen it already, and would soon be here with his men. But, lest he should not, she must fix her flag, and trust to Stephen and Roger not thinking of looking up to the roof from the yard below. At last, after many attempts, she thrust the stick into a crevice of the roof, and fixed it with heavy things round it,—having run down three or four times, to see that George was safe.

There was, indeed, no time to be lost, for the intruders below were doing all the mischief they could think of, short of robbing and burning the premises. The great tall man, Stephen, strolling about the lower rooms, found Mrs Linacre’s knitting, and pulled out the needles, and unravelled the work. Roger spied a heap of bulbs on the corner of a high shelf. They were Mr Linacre’s rare and valuable tulip-roots, brought from Holland. Roger cut one of them open, to see what it looked like, and then threw the whole lot into the boiler, now steaming over the fire, saying the family should have a dish the more at dinner to-day. They got hold of Oliver’s tools, and the cup he was at work upon. Stephen raised his arm, about to dash the cup to the ground, when Oliver sprang forward, and said—

“You shall have it,—you shall have my cup;—you don’t know what a beauty it will be, when it is done. Only let me finish it, and you shall have it in exchange for the stickleback you caught this morning. The stickleback will do to manure our garden; and I am sure you will like the cup, if you will only let me finish it.”

“Manure your garden, indeed!” cried Stephen, gruffly. “I’ll cut up your garden to shreds first. What business has your garden in our carr? You and your great landlord will find what it is to set your outlandish plants growing where our geese ought to be grazing. We’ll show you that we don’t want any foreigners here; and if you don’t like our usage, you may go home again; and nobody will cry for you back.”