Towards evening the men returned, and old Granny prepared the dinner. Mousie liked the tripod with the heavy kettle hanging from it, and the smell of the burning wood. Then Freedom stepped out again carrying Robin in her strong arms, and brought him to the camp fire. But when Mousie looked at him she cried out, for he was as brown as a nut all over. His little face and neck, and his hands and arms, and his feet and legs, all stained with walnut juice, and his curls cropped like a convict. This was Freedom’s doing, and Mousie’s heart sank when she realised it, for she had silently counted on Freedom as their friend. How should they ever get home again if Freedom wanted to hide and disguise them? However, as the days went on, the children learnt to look on her once more as in some sort an ally, partly because she got almost as many harsh words as they, partly, because when no one was looking, she would do them a kindness if she could. And so the hard days passed over, full of work and blows, and chidings; ugly with the sound of oaths, and rough voices, and coarse food. CHAPTER VII _I love to rise on a Summer morn When birds sing on every tree. The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylarks sing with me. O, what sweet company!_ W. BLAKE. One day the children went on a long expedition with Freedom. It was to a neighbouring race meeting. They started in the early morning, and it was a treat to them to escape for once the morning maledictions of Granny Petulengro, and the rough service of the camp. Freedom liked to have them with her, and it was the one day in all their long adventure that the children looked back on with delight. It was nice to be with some one who was not always rating, and Freedom was a good companion for a walk. She stepped free and lightly, a slim brown hand always ready to help any one over hedges or ditches, and, once away from the camp, the lines about her mouth fell into peace and happiness; and she would sing now and again-- “Full many a night in the clear moonlight Have I wandered by valley and Down, Where the owls fly low, and hoot as they go, The white-winged owl, and the brown. For it’s up and away, e’er the dawn of the day, Where the glowworm shines in the grasses, And the dusk lies cool on the reed-set pool, And the night wind passes.”