skirts; Deborah too, secretly, had a long blade concealed, to her own heart's satisfaction. Drawn to danger like moths to candle-flare, these little hardy Flemings sought an adventure after their own hearts. When they reached the level downs and the long expanse of shining water, the gipsy camp burst full on view. It was a sight familiar to their eyes; the dauntless Charlie knew it well. Many an hour, when Dame Marjory, shut in with her pickles and preserves, thought Master Fleming intent over his books, he was riding a bare-backed pony on the downs amidst a ragged crew. Many a raid on those same camps had Master Fleming dared; and twice, hunted by them, had the bold boy fled for liberty, or life. So that, knowing the gipsy nature, he did not approach the camp with Deborah without misgiving or unprepared for flight.

'Now see; if the gipsies curse or hunt us,' he said to Deborah, as they paused, 'that you do not lay hold on me, but run for your life; you can run like a hare; so can I. They may not be best pleased to see us.'

With a heart that beat somewhat faster at her brother's words, Deborah gave assent, and they advanced hand in hand. But in another moment their approach was seen by one ragged sentinel, and with shrill cries of delight they were surrounded by a weird elfin band. Their eyes were beautiful and black, as in Deborah's vision; but upon close quarters, they were all rags and dirt. They swarmed round their old playmate, staring in dumb amaze at Deborah's fair loveliness. Charlie clutched his stick.

'Now stand back!' he cried, in a loud authoritative voice, 'an' I will give you copper pence.' He struck his stick on the ground, and the ragged boys and girls all started back and stood in a circle round them. Deborah was abashed and overwhelmed with admiration at her brother's potent sway; her eyes were riveted upon him. The youthful captain was aware of this, and with added dignity turned upon his troop: 'First, first,' quoth he, 'you must catch two ponies for Mistress Deborah an' for me, the biggest an' the best, an' we will race you. The first one who wins gets the prize; an' if I win or Mistress Deborah wins, we win the prize, an' give it to the first man in: an' that is fair play, seein' our ponies must be the biggest an' the best. But stay. Come on the common, and let them not see us in the camp. After the race is done, we will go an' speak to your grandam, old Dame Shaw, and stay the night mayhap.'

With yells of glee the whole troop rushed hooting over the common, tearing hither and thither after colts as tameless. Deborah's hat was off and her hair flying, the soul of glee was dancing in her eyes. They caught one restive steed; in a moment she was across his back like a boy, and in another minute they were off! Thus the hours fled away, all too fast for them; all the largess of the young captain was thrown away and scrambled for. Deborah's dress flew in tatters round her; she looked the wildest gipsy of them all.

Night came, and vainly through the shades of evening did old Dame Marjory, shading her eyes in the doorway, look for her truants. Sir Vincent was out, and not likely to return. At last she sought Jordan Dinnage, her ancient lover and Enderby's right hand. 'Jordan, hast seen Master Charlie and Lady Deb? A pretty kettle o' fish to fry if they return not to-night, an' the master comes home i' the mornin'. Go seek them, for heaven's sake, man. I am distraught!'

'Why, this comes, Mistress Marjory, o' lettin' the young Master run wild; he's a handful for thee! I know'd how 'twould end, when he's day an' night out gipsyin'. There's where they be, Mistress Marjory, with the gipsies; an' thank yer stars if ye ever set eyes on them agen!'

Old Marjory turned as white as her apron. 'Now, don't ye be goin' to frighten me, Jordan. But if ye speak truth, man, run with all the men you can get along, an' hunt them gipsies down, an' find my two poor dears. O their poor mother! O Jordan, Jordan, Jordan Dinnage!' And Marjory, with her apron to her face, cried as if her true heart would break.

This was too much for Jordan; he was arming already. Snatching a short rusty sword from the wall, and with one comforting hand-thud on Dame Marjory's back, and a 'Comfort thee, my lass!' the active old man was off. The hue-and-cry was raised—all Enderby rang with it. But behold the gipsy camp was gone! Smouldering fires blackened the common; no other trace of the fugitives was visible. But old Jordan rode and rode, with all his men behind him; some on horseback, some on foot, they scoured the country far and near. In vain did Dame Marjory and the servants sit up till morning dawn. It was only late on the following day that the bailiff rode up the avenue with another horseman, one carrying a boy before him, the other a girl; the dresses of both men and children were torn and travel-stained, and the head of Jordan Dinnage tied up. At this sight Dame Marjory ran forward and screamed, and all the women screamed.

'Here be thy childer,' said Jordan; 'an' a hard fight we made for it. Keep a tight hand on 'em, Dame Marjory; but no scoldin' yet.'

So Charlie and Deborah, looking penitent and demure, but rejoicing madly in their hearts at seeing home again, ran in. They were feasted royally in the servants' hall that day!

For many days Sir Vincent did not return, and Jordan Dinnage kept a sharp watch on the gate, to see that the children did not stir beyond. The old vicar called on the little culprits; he looked to daunt them by his words and presence. He was a sad-looking man with a long sallow face; yet some quaint humour lurked in his nature too. Severely he bade Dame Marjory send 'Master and Mistress Fleming' to him. The boy stoutly rebelled; but at last hand in hand, scrubbed and ruffled, they were ushered into the room where the awful vicar sat. Charlie was dressed in a little black velvet doublet and hose, with silk stockings and buckle-shoes, and ribbons at his knees; his long red-brown hair was cut square on his white forehead, and flowed loose on his shoulders; his lips were set firm, his brown brows were knit, and his eyes, large dark and sombre like a stag's, glowered defiantly beneath them. Mistress Deborah was dressed in pale blue silk, pointed to her fairy shape, and trimmed with rose-coloured ribbons; her hair was in hue like her brother's, and cut the same in front, but falling lower behind, and tied at the end with a bow; her lips were apart, and her white teeth gleamed with irrepressible humour; her large bright eyes, gray like a falcon's, gleamed with laughter too; she half hung behind her brother, with her head upon his shoulder, saucy yet shy.

The vicar, in his long black clothes, gazed upon the pretty picture from a high-backed chair, stern, melancholy, resigned. The little Flemings stood before him just as they had entered. 'Children,' quoth the vicar of Enderby, 'it hath afforded me great grief to hear of thy misdeeds; they have been reprehensible in the extreme. Thou hast encouraged vagabondism, and run near becoming vagabonds thyselves; in fine, thou hast outraged propriety and set all social laws at defiance. To thee, Charles, I should have looked, in thy father's absence, to set an example to thine inferiors, to guard the house, and to protect thine infant sister (or little better than an infant, either in years or discretion). Thou hast proved thyself, Charles, incapable of either charge; indeed, if thou art not sent to school, to feel a master's rod, I entertain great fears for thy future, and so I shall inform thy father. To thee, Mistress Deborah, I say little; thou art young and inexperienced, though much given to vanity, it is said, both in dress and person; but though thou art as yet incorrigible, I would have thee reform, and entertain some hopes of thee. Thou art the future mistress of this house; how then, when thou comest to years of discretion, wilt thou fulfil thy duties of mistress and of hostess, if thou dost now run wild amid grooms