“The mischief’s done right enough, but it’s all for nothing, and we’ll get nothing for our trouble. We’re lucky if we gets quit of this; they’ve got news of it after all. I’ve been to the side-door and the front-door, but the whole place is barred; why, the very windows have their shutters up, and the great bulldog in the yard that Freedom said she’d poisoned, standing right up against the opening, showing his teeth. There’s been foul play somewhere; we’ve been split upon; and if I can lay my finger on who’s done it, I’ll----” his speech lost itself in a string of oaths and maledictions while he trod heavily forward to where the children stood. And as he turned his great ugly visage upon them, Mousie screamed, “It’s the man in the wood, Robin! it’s the man who killed the woman in the wood!” And before Robin could say a word in answer, he felt a great blow, as if the earth had jumped up and slapped him, and he knew nothing more. Then one of the men caught the frightened Mousie and tied a cruel bandage so quickly round her that she could neither scream nor speak, and another picked up Robin where he lay quite still upon the ground, and between them they carried the children away swiftly. The men walked till they came to a belt of trees, far out upon the Down. Here they set their burdens by the embers of a fire of charred wood. Two or three rail-backed ponies were picketed out upon the green, and a great van loomed dark in the half-light. Several rough, unkempt faces peered at them, and dark forms crouched about the fire, stirring its embers to a fitful flame. Mousie and Robin were in a gipsies’ encampment, and the very thick of their adventure about to begin. CHAPTER VI _How can a bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child when fears annoy But droop his tender wing And forget his youthful spring?_ W. BLAKE. It was late the next day when Mousie opened her eyes. She had lain sensible of discomfort for some time before she wholly woke, and now a sense of movement and the gritting of wheels on a road shook sleep finally from her. She raised herself and looked round. She was lying in a little box-bed, only just large enough to hold her. A rough sheet was thrown across her of the dingiest nature, and the muscles of her neck and shoulders ached when she turned about. And there in the corner of the van, lying on the floor with his head on a bundle of clothes, lay Robin. A very old woman sat in a chair beside him, and every now and then she would bend down and look earnestly into his sleeping face. “Robin, wake up,” cried Mousie; “Robin, where are we?” “Whist there, with your wake up,” said the woman in a low voice. “Be silent, will ’ee? rousing him from the first bit o’ quiet sleep he’s had the whole night long.”