“What in?” Reuben asked. “I did disguise myself once in a false beard and a green-colored mustache, but it didn’t take no one in for a moment, not even the dogs.” “We thought,” said Mavis gently, “that perhaps the most complete disguise for you would be girl’s clothes—because,” she added hastily to dispel the thundercloud on Reuben’s brow—“because you’re such a manly boy. Nobody would give vent to a moment’s suspicion. It would be so very unlike _you_.” “G’a long—” said the Spangled Child, his dignity only half soothed. “And I’ve brought you some of my things and some sandshoes of France’s, because, of course, mine are just kiddy shoes.” At that Reuben burst out laughing and then hummed: “‘Go, flatterer, go, I’ll not trust to thy vow,’” quite musically. “Oh, do you know the ‘Gypsy Countess’? How jolly!” said Kathleen. “Old Mother Romaine knew a power of songs,” he said, suddenly grave. “Come on, chuck us in the togs.” “You just take off your coat and come out and I’ll help you dress up,” was Francis’s offer. “Best get a skirt over my kicksies first,” said Reuben, “case anyone comes by and recognizes the gypsy child. Hand us in the silk attire and jewels have to spare.” They pushed the blue serge skirt and jersey through the branches, which he held apart. “Now the ’at,” he said, reaching a hand for it. But the hat was too large for the opening in the bush, and he had to come out of it. The moment he was out the girls crowned him with the big rush-hat, around whose crown a blue scarf was twisted, and Francis and Bernard each seizing a leg, adorned those legs with brown stockings and white sandshoes. Reuben, the spangled runaway from the gypsy camp, stood up among his new friends a rather awkward and quite presentable little girl. “Now,” he said, looking down at his serge skirts with a queer smile, “now we shan’t be long.” Nor were they. Thrusting the tin spoon and the pie plate and the discarded boots of Reuben into the kind shelter of the bush they made straight for the sea. When they got to that pleasant part of the shore which is smooth sand and piled shingle, lying between low rocks and high cliffs, Bernard stopped short. “Now, look here,” he said, “if Sabrina fair turns up trumps I don’t mind going on with the adventure, but I won’t do it if Kathleen’s to be in it.” “It’s not fair,” said Kathleen; “you said I might.” “Did I?” Bernard most handsomely referred the matter to the others. “Yes, you did,” said Francis shortly. Mavis said “Yes,” and Reuben clinched the matter by saying, “Why, you up and asked her yourself if she’d go along of you.” “All right,” said Bernard calmly. “Then I shan’t go myself. That’s all.” “Oh, bother,” said at least three of the five; and Kathleen said: “I don’t see why I should always be out of everything.”