“‘Weyhurst!’ I ses and means,” said the older man severely, evidently scenting further suspicions in Betty’s surprised squeak. “They knows me fair and square there, from Weyhurst. And if we’s being tracked, I’ll show every one of you, down Woodhurst here, w’ere we passed through this morning, and was treated civil by the police, whether Andrew Grimes--licensed travelling broom-seller--ain’t respected by all atween Weyhurst and Woodhurst, him an’ his wife Anna Grimes too, wot is travelling in this here caravan at this very minute.” The said Anna Grimes put a tidy head through the caravan door as though to prove the truth of her husband’s remarks. She was a decent middle-aged woman, but her face was set in angry lines. “An’ as I ses, to be sure,” she broke out, “we’s enough trouble to make an honest living these days without young ladies a-tracking us down, and then going back, perhaps, an’ sending police after us for cups. As I ses--” She broke off suddenly with a cry of surprise. “Dad, who’ve you got _’ere_?” she called out in a different voice. “Why----!” “Why--!” remarked Betty, too, at that instant. For something in the look of Anna Grimes’s face was familiar, though what the familiarity consisted in she could not for a minute or two find out. The woman’s face was somehow connected in her mind with home; and something unpleasant; and--oh yes, with a _baby_! It was at this instant that the woman, who had disappeared inside the caravan for a moment after uttering the exclamation, appeared in view again, panting, and made her way down the steps carrying a small child in her arms. “Dad! Well, I never, Dad!” she called excitedly, addressing her surprised husband, but keeping her eyes on the still more surprised Betty. “Sure this is the little young lady wot I’s always told you of wot came running into doctor’s waiting-room and kisses the baby. Brought him luck, too, she did, as I’ve always said; seeing as he got through the fever so easy, and--” The angry lines of her face were all smoothed away. She wore a comfortable smile as she approached the girls. [Illustration: “Sure, this is the little young lady wot I’s always told you of.”] The “fever!” At that word Betty remembered everything. The woman, Mrs. Grimes, whose home her husband had said was at Weyhurst, was the very woman who had brought the screaming baby into Dad’s waiting-room, and to whose aid she had hurried unasked in a fit of zeal, only to earn for herself and the twins a legacy of the said fever for which, as Dad had discovered, the child had been sickening at the time. The action had seemed to be fraught with unmitigated disaster at the time, but now----! The whole caravan atmosphere had changed; smiles took the place of frowns. “It’s a mistake, Dad, that’s what it is, Dad,” said the woman. “You’ve been too ’asty-like. Sure, the doctor’s young lady wot kissed the baby she wouldn’t go for to----”