“Bim said she looked cross, and isn’t she!” thought Clare, as she ran on into the boys’ room. But what was her surprise to find the beds empty, Bim and Christopher were gone. “Never mind, come downstairs,” said Dolorès; “I dare say Leslie may have taken them down.” No steps of Clare’s could take her sufficiently swiftly. To be left behind was to her something intolerable; the boys were already down and perhaps having all sorts of fun, and she’d gone in to wake them up, and it wasn’t fair. If you sound the letters _pr_ very quickly for a second, it will give you some idea how quickly she ran downstairs. [Illustration: _G. Morland._ CHILDREN PLAYING AT SOLDIERS.] Bim and Christopher were standing together talking to a group of children, and Clare heard Bim explaining: “I’m so sorry; it’s my fault, but you must come, boys, another day. You see two of my friends mayn’t play with children they don’t know, and so I hope you’ll come again and have a game with Christopher and my sister. My Mother wants you to wipe your boots on the mat as you go out, and I’ll send word when next we want you. Good-bye, good-bye, here’s a bun for each--and, wait a moment, take all this cake, won’t you?” Clare’s first thought was, “Bim’s got his Wilsford village boys here, but how has he managed it?” “O Bim,” she cried out, “who are they, what are you doing, why are they going away?” “Wait a minute, I’ll tell you. You see, Leslie woke me and Christopher, and said we were going to have a jolly game. I had asked in the village boys as usual, and found out too late that Charlotte and Henry Spencer aren’t allowed to play with them, you know. I felt dreadfully awkward, but it’s all right _now_. I don’t know how people can have such swabs for Mothers. Anyhow, there it is, and as Charlotte and Henry came down first, I can’t very well go against it. Come on, children,” he called out suddenly, and Leslie and Beppo rushed up, their eyes glancing. But not before Clare had a glimpse of an astonishing sight. It was this. All the dear children to whom Bim had given cakes filed out into the passage. With her own astonished eyes, she saw them walk up to the Morland pictures, and disappear into them among the trees. They were “the apple stealers,” and the “children playing at soldiers,” and as she ran up to the pictures with all her heart in her eyes to look closer she was just in time to hear that sound of ineffable beauty when the wind blows softly among a myriad leaves. There was a cool smell of moss. A bough swayed under the weight of a climbing boy, and she heard a dog bark in the distance. Then the branches closed over, there was a rustle in the greenwood, and everything was still. [Illustration: _G. Morland._ THE APPLE-STEALERS.] CHAPTER III _... That ancient festival, the Fair,_ * * * * *