The other girl said nothing at all, but made a move to pick up Reuben. Pamela took her share--and the egg basket, and the two of them started off with the chrysalis slung between them. It was easy enough going through the longish coarse grass which was now so wet, and the drifting mist that still held. Pamela was thinking hard, but she did not speak, that last sentence spoken by the strange girl had been such a shock that she wanted her to do the talking. Perhaps matters would be explained later. The hour was nearer seven than six o’clock, for all these doings had taken up time. One after another questions rose in Pamela’s mind. She was tired and strained without knowing it, so the questions seemed to be dropped without answers. They went on down the long lane between the gorsy banks. As the strange girl was leading she had command of the procession; she made for the cart-shed, went in, and stopped. "Take your petticoat," she ordered, "then I will put this child on your back, and open the gate. You may take him to the farm." "Oh--but----" began Pamela, disturbed and puzzled. "I shall not come into the farm, if that is what you wish. It is not possible," the other cut her short in a peremptory manner; "quick now--we cannot stand here; someone may come and that would be annoying." Pamela found herself swept along in spite of herself. She mechanically did as she was told. The other girl was so strong and decided. Just before she lifted little Reuben she said to him: "Please say nothing to your family about me. Do you understand? It is better for everyone that people do not talk. If you talk Sir Marmaduke Shard will be angry with you." "Yes, Miss," murmured Reube, awestricken and confused. A moment after he knew nothing, because when he was lifted he fainted. Pamela wanted to get the business over as quickly as possible. The boy was a great anxiety. Also she felt as though her brain were entirely confused, and she wanted to set it in order again. She passed through the farm-gate--the dog began to bark furiously--then she called. On the other side of the stack-yard she saw a man hurrying, it was Ensor, the farmer; then Mrs. Ensor appeared, and immediately she found herself the centre of a small crowd, and heard herself saying that they ought to send for a doctor at once because the foot was very bad. "It mayn’t be broken, but it’s all wrong," she said. Ensor did not talk, he was a silent man; everybody else did, and Pamela had to urge quiet and warm milk at once. "I had nothing to give him and he was so thirsty, poor mite." "You look bad enough yourself, Missie. Down the Beak! Whoever heard tell the like. Naughty boy----" "Don’t scold him, Mrs. Ensor, he really has been through an awful lot," protested Pamela. "No, I won’t stay a moment. I must get back as soon as possible, or my mother will be anxious. If you like I’ll tell Major Fraser at Mainsail Cottage, probably he’s in now."