The afternoon had worn away into a beautiful evening when the travellers came to a point where the road made a sharp turn and struck across a common. On the border of this common, and close to the hedge which divided it from the fields, a caravan was drawn up to rest, upon which they came so suddenly that they could not have passed it by even if they had wished to do so. It was not a shabby, dingy, dusty cart, but a smart little house upon wheels, with white curtains to the windows, and window shutters of green with bright panels of red. Neither was it a poor caravan drawn by a single donkey or horse, for a pair of fine horses were grazing on the grass. Near it at the open door (graced with a bright brass knocker) sat a stout lady taking tea. The tea-things, as well as a cold knuckle of ham, were set forth upon a drum covered with a white napkin. It happened that at that moment the lady of the caravan had her large cup to her lips, and having her eyes also lifted to the sky in her enjoyment of the tea, she did not see the travellers when they first came up. It was not until she was setting down the cup, and drawing a long breath of contentment, that she beheld an old man and a young child walking slowly by, and glancing at her with hungry eyes. "Hey!" cried the lady, scooping the crumbs out of her lap, and swallowing the same before wiping her lips. "Yes, to be sure. Who won the second day’s race, child?" "Won what, ma’am?" asked Nell. "The race that was run on the second day." "I don’t know, ma’am." "Don’t know!" said the lady of the caravan; "why, you were there. I saw you with my own eyes." Nell was not a little alarmed to hear this, supposing that the lady might be a friend of the Punch and Judy men, but what followed calmed her fears. "And very sorry I was," said the lady of the caravan, "to see you in company with a Punch—a low wretch, that people should scorn to look at." "I was not there by choice," returned the child; "we didn’t know our way, and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do you—do you know them, ma’am?" "Know them, child!" cried the lady of the caravan in a sort of shriek. "Know them! But you’re young and know very little, and that’s your excuse for asking such a question. Do I look as if I knowed ’em?" "No, ma’am, no," said the child. "I beg your pardon." It was granted at once, though the lady still appeared much ruffled by the question. The child then said that they had left the races on the first day, and were travelling to the next town on that road, where they meant to spend the night. As the face of the stout lady began to brighten, she asked how far it was. The reply was that the town was eight miles off. The child could scarcely keep back a tear as she glanced along the darkening road. Her grandfather made no complaint, but he sighed heavily, and peered forward into the dusky distance.