When Jack had satisfied his mind on this point he dropped quickly from his perch, flung his stick over the hedge, picked up the child as tenderly as he knew how, stepped lightly across the brook, and set off on his way back to Stammars--a three miles' walk. He felt very awkward indeed, and was possessed by an acute sense of the ludicrous appearance he must have presented had anyone been there to see him, which fortunately there was not. The child seemed wrapped up warmly enough, its outside covering being an old black skirt of some cheap material. Whether it were a boy or a girl, Jack had no skill to judge, nor was that a point which had much interest for him. That strange, serious look in its eyes troubled him a little; but when, after it had finished its examination of him, a wintry smile flickered over its little white face, while it seemed to nestle nearer to him, he could not keep his arms from folding themselves still more closely round it. The difficulty that now presented itself to Jack's mind was how to dispose of the child. It would never do to take the little waif to Stammars: Lady Dudgeon would have been horrified: and yet Jack shrank instinctively from the thought of leaving it to the tender mercies of the workhouse authorities, although that was clearly the proper thing to do. He was still debating the question, when he heard the noise of wheels behind him. He turned instinctively, and to his great dismay saw a pony phaeton coming rapidly along the road, driven by a youth in livery, beside whom was seated a lady--whether young or old Jack could not yet tell--but evidently well wrapped up in furs. The hot colour rushed to his face. What should he do? What indeed could he do? There was no bye-lane up which he could slink--no stile through which he could wriggle, and so put the shelter of the thick hedge between himself and the road; and it was quite evident that he could not leave the child on the footpath and take to his heels. All that he could do was to pull his hat savagely over his brows, set his teeth, and march stubbornly on, as if it were the most natural and proper thing in the world for a gentleman in a fashionable overcoat and kid gloves to be strolling along a country road in the middle of the afternoon, hugging a baby--and not a nicely dressed baby either--and acting generally the part of a nursemaid. "I hope she's an old lady--a grandmother, or at least a mother," said Jack to himself in desperation. "In that case, it mightn't be a bad thing to appeal to her, and tell her how I came to pick up this pitiful little vagabond. It's quite evident that I can't walk into Pembridge like this."