“No,” said mother, shaking her head. “No, dear. Don’t let’s be sorry for each other yet. It would be like giving up hope. And we haven’t done that, have we?” “_I_ haven’t,” said Joyce. “I _know_ it’s all right.” After lunch—again mother said she wouldn’t be hungry till Joan came home—they went out together. There were no searches now in the wood and the garden was empty; the police had left no inch unscanned and they were away, combing the country-side and spreading terror among the tramps. The sun was strong upon the lawn and the smell of the roses was heavy on the air; across the hedge the land rolled away to clear perspectives of peace and beauty. “Let’s walk up and down,” suggested mother. “Anything’s better than sitting still. And don’t talk, chick—not just now.” They paced the length of the lawn, from the cedar to the gate which led to the wood, perhaps a dozen times, hand in hand and in silence. It was while their backs were turned to the wood that they heard the gate click, and faced about to see who was coming. A blue-sleeved arm thrust the gate open and there advanced into the sunlight, coming forth from the shadow as from a doorway—Joan! Her round baby face, with the sleek brown hair over it, the massive infantile body, the sturdy bare legs, confronted them serenely. Mother uttered a deep sigh—it sounded like that—and in a moment she was kneeling on the ground with her arms round the baby. “Joan, Joan,” she said, over and over again. “My little, little baby!” Joan struggled in her embrace till she got an arm free and then rubbed her eyes drowsily. “Hallo!” she said. “But where have you been?” cried mother. “Baby-girl, where have you been all this time?” Joan made a motion of her head and her free arm toward the wood, the wood which had been searched a dozen times over like a pocket. “In there,” she answered carelessly. “Wiv the wood-ladies. I’m hungry!” “My darling!” said mother, and picked her up and carried her into the house. In the dining-room, with mother at her side and Joyce opposite to her, Joan fell to her food in her customary workman-like fashion, and between helpings answered questions in a fashion which only served to darken the mystery of her absence. “But there aren’t any wood-ladies really, darling,” remonstrated mother. “There is,” said Joan. “There’s lots. They wanted to keep me but I wouldn’t stay. So I comed home, ’cause I was hungry.” “But,” began mother, “where did they take you to?” she asked. “I don’t know,” said Joan. “The one what I went to speak to gave me her hand and tooked me to where there was more of them. It was a place in the wood wiv grass to sit on and bushes all round, and they gave me dead flowers to play wiv. Howwid old dead flowers!” “Yes?” said mother. “What else?”