"Gee-up, gee-who, get along, horsey," she cried, pummelling Cross's shoulders unmercifully with her feet. "Gallop away, old horse Coss, gee-up, gee-up. Good night, little baby's mother, I _sall_ come back;" and Cross, thankful to get her away on any terms, turned to the door, humouring her by pretending to trot and gallop. But half way down the little garden path Hoodie suddenly pulled him up, literally pulled him up, by clasping him with her two arms so tightly round the throat that he was nearly strangled. "Stop, stop, horsey," she cried, "I haven't kissed the baby. I must kiss the baby." Even Cross's good nature was nearly at an end, but he dared not oppose her. He stood still, very red in the face, with some muttered exclamation, while Hoodie screamed to Lizzie to bring out the baby to be kissed, perfectly regardless of Martin's remonstrances. And in this fashion at last Hoodie was brought home--Martin walking home in silent despair alongside. Only when they got close to the lodge gate Hoodie pulled up Cross again, but this time in much gentler fashion. "Let me down, Coss, please," she said, meekly enough, "I'd rather walk now." And walk in she did, as demurely and comfortably as if she had just returned from an ordinary walk with her nurse. "Was there ever such a child?" said Martin to herself again. And poor Cross, as he walked away wiping his forehead, decided in his own mind that he'd rather have the breaking in of twenty young horses than of such a queer specimen as little Miss Hoodie. [Illustration: Poor Cross] CHAPTER IV. MAUDIE'S GODMOTHER. "If you'd have children safe abroad, Just keep them safe at home." They were all standing at the door--Maudie, Hec and Duke, that is to say, and mother in the background, and farther back still, half the servants of the household. But Hoodie marched in demurely by Martin's side--nay, more, she had taken hold of Martin's hand. And when Mrs. Caryll came forward hurriedly to meet them, of the two, Martin looked much the more upset and uncomfortable. "You have brought her back safe and sound, Martin!" exclaimed Hoodie's mother. "Oh, Hoodie, what a fright you have given us! What was she doing? How was it, Martin?" Martin hesitated. "If you please, ma'am," she said, "I think I'd rather tell you all about it afterwards. It's not late, but Miss Hoodie _must_ be tired. Won't it be as well, ma'am, for her to go to bed at once?" Mrs. Caryll understood Martin's manner. "Yes," she said. "I think it will. Say good night to me, Hoodie, and to Maudie and your brothers. And to-morrow morning you must come early to my room. I want to talk to you." Hoodie looked up curiously in her mother's face. Was she vexed, or sorry, or what? Hoodie could not decide. "Good night, mother," she said, quietly. "Good night, Hec and Duke and Maudie," and she coolly turned away, and followed Martin up-stairs. The three other children crept round their mother. She looked pale and troubled.