When memory returned to him, which of course it did after a little time, he still lay without moving; he was really too comfortable to stir. Then he stretched out his hand, and drew the fragrant hay close to him, and smelt it: finally, curiosity awoke in his breast; he raised his head cautiously and looked out. The scene he saw astonished him; nay more, it nearly took his breath away. Bending over the waggon, sheltering all its great load of hay, was a vast, wide-spreading oak tree. The leaves of this great tree were so close to Robin when he put out his head, that some of them actually brushed against his forehead. He raised his eyes to look up into this world of green. Beyond it, looking bluer than he had ever beheld it before, he caught a glimpse of the sky. A bird, his own namesake in fact, sang down to him from the boughs of the oak tree. He pushed his head out a little farther, and gazed eagerly about him. A whole brood of yellow, downy chickens, led by their anxious parent, were pecking, scratching, fighting for the seed which dropped from the hay. These chickens had come close to Robin, and one or two of them even saw him, and stared up impudently with their bright black eyes. A little farther on he saw a house--a house with a deep porch, covered over with creepers and bright flowers. Lying half within the shelter of the porch was an old watch-dog, fast asleep. A couple of children, sunburnt and rosy-cheeked, played near the dog. Away in the distance were fields studded with haycocks; fields, also, wavy with the yet unripe corn. But close, close to the old house, almost within a stone's throw of where Robin lay, was a smaller field, studded also--richly studded; but with something else,--white, white daisies. The moment he saw the field with the daisies--for from Helen's description he knew they must be daisies--his quick wits returned to him, and he remembered why he had got into the waggon--and why, in short, he was here at all. The sight of the daisies had brought back the coloured picture in the old attic--had brought back, with a painful heart-longing, the thought of Helen. Well! he was all right, he was certain now to be taken to the Lock-up--certain now to be given back to Helen. If the other boy, who was only a few moments in that delightful hiding-place, was worthy of so severe a punishment, how thoroughly must he--Robin--deserve it! He had been a long time in the waggon; he had been asleep amongst the hay. No--there was certainly no fear--not the very least fear of his escaping punishment. He chuckled to himself at the thought, and wondered what the people, who by-and-by would send him to the Lock-up, would think did they know that while they believed they were punishing him, they were in reality furthering his dearest wishes? These pleasant ideas had just occurred to him when a fresh object appeared to distract his attention.