"No--no!" cried the mother, carried away by the fear he expressed so subtly, and warmed by his carefully expressed sympathy. "Don't take any notice of me. I'm foolish--silly. You're right--he--he couldn't make the journey with us. No, no, we--won't--take him now. Set him down, Jim. I'll go now, and you'll--you'll come back for them. Yes, yes, let's go now. I--I can't stay any--longer. I've left a letter for Zip. Swear I shall have them both. You'll never--never break your word? I think I'd--die without them." "You shall have them. I swear it." The man spoke readily enough. It was so easy to promise anything, so long as he got her. But his oath brought neither expression of gratitude nor comment. The woman was beyond mere words. She felt that only flight could save her from breaking down altogether. And, thus impelled, she tore herself from the presence of the children and rushed out of the hut. The horses were down at the creek, and thither she sped, lest her purpose should fail her. James followed her. He felt that she must not be left by herself to think. But at the door he paused and glanced keenly around him. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. Not a living soul was to be seen anywhere. It was good; his plans had worked out perfectly. He set Jamie down, and, all unconscious of the little drama being played round his young life, the child stretched out a chubby hand in the direction of the soap-box he and his sister had been playing with. "'Piders," he observed laconically. Vada rushed past him to inspect their treasures, her tears already dried into streaks on her dirty little cheeks. "An' bugs," she cried gleefully, squatting beside the box. They had forgotten. * * * * * The man hurried away down towards the creek, bearing the pitiful bundle of woman's raiment. The girl was ahead, and, as she again came into his view, one thought, and one thought only, occupied his mind. Jessie was his whole world--at that moment. He, too, had forgotten. "They've runned away," cried Vada, peering into the box. "Me don't like 'piders," murmured Jamie definitely. Vada's great brown eyes filled with tears. Fresh rivulets began to run down the muddy channels on her downy cheeks. Her disappointment found vent in great sobbing gulps. Jamie stared at her in silent speculation. Then one little fat hand reached out and pushed her. She rolled over and buried her wet face in the dusty ground and howled heart-brokenly. Then Jamie crawled close up beside her, and, stretching himself out, wept his sympathy into the back of her gaping frock. CHAPTER III THE AWAKENING OF SCIPIO