The Baby looked at her disapprovingly, and put a sandy pink thumb in his mouth. Anthea was his favourite sister. "Come, then," she said. "G'way 'long!" said the Baby. "Come to own Pussy," said Jane. "Wants my Panty," said the Lamb dismally, and his lip trembled. "Here, come on, Veteran," said Robert, "come and have a yidey on Yobby's back." "Yah, narky narky boy," howled the Baby, giving way altogether. Then the children knew the worst. _The Baby did not know them!_ [Illustration: The baby did not know them!] They looked at each other in despair, and it was terrible to each, in this dire emergency, to meet only the beautiful eyes of perfect strangers, instead of the merry, friendly, commonplace, twinkling, jolly little eyes of its own brothers and sisters. "This is most truly awful," said Cyril when he had tried to lift up the Lamb, and the Lamb had scratched like a cat and bellowed like a bull! "We've got to _make friends_ with him! I can't carry him home screaming like that. Fancy having to make friends with our own baby!--it's too silly." That, however, was exactly what they had to do. It took over an hour, and the task was not rendered any easier by the fact that the Lamb was by this time as hungry as a lion and as thirsty as a desert. At last he consented to allow these strangers to carry him home by turns, but as he refused to hold on to such new acquaintances he was a dead weight, and most exhausting. "Thank goodness, we're home!" said Jane, staggering through the iron gate to where Martha, the nursemaid, stood at the front door shading her eyes with her hand and looking out anxiously. "Here! Do take Baby!" Martha snatched the Baby from her arms. "Thanks be, _he's_ safe back," she said. "Where are the others, and whoever to goodness gracious are all of you?" "We're _us_, of course," said Robert. "And who's Us, when you're at home?" asked Martha scornfully. "I tell you it's _us_, only we're beautiful as the day," said Cyril. "I'm Cyril, and these are the others, and we're jolly hungry. Let us in, and don't be a silly idiot." Martha merely dratted Cyril's impudence and tried to shut the door in his face. "I know we _look_ different, but I'm Anthea, and we're so tired, and it's long past dinner-time." "Then go home to your dinners, whoever you are; and if our children put you up to this play-acting you can tell them from me they'll catch it, so they know what to expect!" With that she did bang the door. Cyril rang the bell violently. No answer. Presently cook put her head out of a bedroom window and said-- "If you don't take yourselves off, and that precious sharp, I'll go and fetch the police." And she slammed down the window. "It's no good," said Anthea. "Oh, do, do come away before we get sent to prison!" The boys said it was nonsense, and the law of England couldn't put you in prison for just being as beautiful as the day, but all the same they followed the others out into the lane.