gliding along in the dark was so new and strange that she was at first very frightened, but as every one else looked quite comfortable, her fears began to abate, and she could turn her mind to the strange adventures that had befallen them.

After some little time they stopped, and their companion lifted them out, rousing Duncan out of his heavy sleep with much difficulty.

A tall, dark gentleman was waiting, on the platform for them. "Here are the dear children," the lady said, in a sweet, sad voice. "Children, say 'How do you do?' to your Uncle William."

The gentleman shook hands with each of them, and taking Elsie by the hand, led her forward, the lady following with Duncan. They passed through some gates, and found some carriages waiting outside. Into one of these the gentleman and lady took the children, and they were driven away.

These two strange individuals conversed a great deal, but the noise of the wheels prevented Elsie from hearing much of what they said. She made out that the lady was telling the gentleman about her journey, and she thought they both seemed rather pleased.

Suddenly the gentleman leaned over, and laid a hand upon Elsie's arm. "Mind what you are about," he said in her ear. "If you say anything to displease this lady, your good mother, it will be the worse for you. The less you say to anybody, the better; and look after the boy. What is your name?"

"Elsie."

"No it isn't. It is Effie Donaldson. Don't forget it again. Your brother's name is Donald Donaldson. Don't let him forget it, either."

Elsie saw in a moment that there was no trifling meant, and that she would have to obey. It was the same gentleman who had called the driver an idiot in the morning. She had stolen a glance at him then, and had not liked his face. She liked it still less now. Still, they must be kind people, or they would not have brought her and Duncan all this way, and given them such nice clothes. Elsie very much wished, however, that gentlefolk had not such strange manners.

She was very glad and thankful when at last they alighted at a house, into which they entered. A neat, tidy-looking woman came forward to meet them. "Everything's quite ready, ma'am, as the gentleman ordered," she said, with a curtsey. "I've made up an extra bed in your room, ma'am, for the little boy, which the gentleman said would suit you, and the supper's waiting to be served in a moment. I dare say the children are tired, ma'am."

"Yes," said the lady, in a sweet, gentle voice. "They have had a long journey, and they are tired to-night. They will be glad to get to bed as soon as we have had supper, won't you, dears?"

"Yes, mamma," Elsie answered quickly. Duncan made no reply.

"You go in there, and sit down till I come," the lady said, pointing to an open door, through which came the gleam of a fire. She took Elsie's hat and Duncan's cap, and went upstairs, leaving the children, as they thought, alone.

But that was a mistake, for the gentleman came in the next moment. However, he told them, not unkindly, to sit down and warm themselves, which they were glad enough to do. The table was already spread for a meal. Presently the woman brought in a dish of ham and eggs, which made the famished creatures ready to cry with delight.

Their new mamma watched them very narrowly as they ate. Fortunately, Mrs. MacDougall had been very strict about their behaviour, but there were still several things that displeased their new friend, for which she corrected them pretty sharply; and to show how easily children can remember when they really know they must, Elsie not only bore in mind the faults that were found with herself, but also those points in which Duncan had offended.

The woman of the house came in by-and-by, to ask whether she should see the children in bed. She looked so kind and nice, that Elsie hoped their new mamma would say "Yes." She, however, declined, saying that she could not bear any one to do anything for the children but herself. Then she took them upstairs, and locking the door, bade them undress. She then went to a box, and got out some night garments, which were much too large; but the children did not mind that. She tucked Elsie kindly into the snuggest, sweetest bed that could be, and then went to do the same kind office for Duncan. Then telling them that they were on no account to get up till she came to them the next morning, she left them to such a night's rest as they had not had since they left the cottage on Dunster Moor.

CHAPTER XI.—"THAT CHILD IS ILL!"

T
he children had been in the habit of rising at an early hour all their lives. Elsie woke the next morning about six o'clock, to find the sun shining in brightly at the curtained window. She had always thought what a fine thing it must be to be able to lie in bed as long as one liked, so she was not at all averse to doing as the lady had bidden her, especially as the little bed was so soft and warm. She lay quietly, looking round the room at the pictures which hung on the walls, and at the various articles of furniture it contained; but after a while she began to grow tired of this, and to wonder when the lady would come to her. After an hour or so she crept to the door, and turned the handle, thinking to see if any one was about yet; but she found that she was locked in, so there was nothing else to be done but to get back into bed.

The time passed very slowly; still no one came. Elsie grew very restless, and did not at all like the feeling of being locked up away from Duncan. Still these people were gentlefolk, and rich. It was quite impossible they could mean any harm. She could hear distant sounds of people moving in the house. Could it be possible that they had forgotten all about her? She had heard a clock strike seven, then eight, now it was striking nine. At home, she would have been across the moor and back, have had her breakfast, and been at school by this time.

Much as she stood in awe of her mysterious benefactress, she grew at last so restless that she could be still no longer, but jumped up, and began to wash and dress herself.

She was standing before the glass, greatly admiring her appearance in the new frock and hat, and wondering how the lady had really got them, when the key turned, and the fairy mother herself entered. She was dressed in long trailing black garments, with a white cap on her head, and looked, Elsie thought, wonderfully sweet and pretty. But as her eye fell upon Elsie the sweetness vanished, and the angry expression that had once before so terrified her came back.

"I told you not to get up till I came," she said, in a threatening voice.

"I thought you had forgotten; it was so late," Elsie faltered.

"You are not to think," the lady said. "You have disobeyed me once. The second time you will find yourself, before nightfall, back on the top of the mountain, as I warned you before. And far worse things than that will befall you, and your brother too. Take care! I shall not warn you again. Now, put on these stockings I have brought you, and let me see if these shoes fit."

They were a pair of fine woven black stockings, for which Elsie willingly changed her thick grey knitted ones. The shoes were a little long, but were soft and easy to her feet, and seemed to Elsie very beautiful ones. They were, in fact, a pair of the lady's own, and yet were scarcely any too large for Elsie. Then the lady combed out her hair, and tied it up with a piece of black ribbon. Elsie felt herself very grand indeed.

"Now kiss me, and say, 'Good morning, mamma,'" the lady said, holding her cheek down.

Elsie did as she was bidden. "That will do," the lady said. "When you go downstairs say 'Good morning' to your Uncle William in the same way. You can go now."