"Horses!" said Orion, his eyes sparkling. "Rather!"

"Well, Uncle Ben will teach you to ride, and to jump, and to do all kinds of things. Now, just stand back, and let me dress little missy, for Ben is waiting to begin the rehearsal. Missy, you let me put on your dress."

Diana was only too willing to be attired in a flimsy skirt of white tarlatan, which stuck out from her little figure; she also wore wings on her shoulders, and her black hair was rendered gay with bows of crimson ribbon. She felt quite excited and pleased with herself.

"I spects I look awfu' pwetty," she said. "I'd like to see my own self in a looking-glass. Has you got a looking-glass in your pocket, Aunt Sawah?"

"Yes, dear; a small one."

Aunt Sarah whipped her hand into a deep pocket and took out a glass. Diana surveyed herself critically in its depths.

"I like my dwess," she said, "but I don't like this howid bwown stuff on my face."

"Never mind, dear; bear it for the present. When we get down to the southwest of England it shall all be taken off; but up here Uncle Ben thinks it best for you both to have it on."

"Why?" asked Diana.

Aunt Sarah was puzzled for a moment.

"'Cos it's wholesome," she said at last.

"And isn't it wholesome in the southwest of England?" asked Diana.

Aunt Sarah was puzzled how to reply. Diana, who was gazing at her very intently, burst into a clear, childish laugh.

"Do you know you is a humbug?" she said. "You know perfect well why you is using that. You want to hide us, that's why. What a silly old Aunt Sawah you is!"

Before Aunt Sarah could make a suitable reply, the loud voice of Uncle Ben was heard in the distance.

"Come, Sarah," he called, "bring those kids along. I can't be kept waiting another minute."

"Now then, dears," said Aunt Sarah, "I'll take you to the circus."

"The circus!" cried Diana. "Is we going to a circus? I love 'em!"

"Well, my dear, you are not only going to see a circus, but you are going soon to be part of a circus. Uncle Ben owns one; it's a sort of traveling circus. He takes it about with him from one part of the country to another. You'll be part of the circus in the future, little miss."

"And may I wide horses?" asked Diana.

"Surely, my dear, and perhaps other animals as well. Oh, never fear! you'll be taught all kinds of queer things. You'll have quite a nice time if you keep on the buttered side of Uncle Ben."

"The buttered side! That must be g'easy," said Diana.

"Well, you keep on it, miss. If he's kind to you, why, all will be right, and, for my part, I'll see you want for nothing."

"I do believe," said Diana, her eyes sparkling; she turned as she spoke and clasped one of Orion's hands—"I do weally b'lieve this is better nor aunt's. Do come 'long, Orion; I always did love circuses."

Aunt Sarah led the children down a long, narrow passage, and then across an open court, until presently they found themselves inside the entrance of a huge circular tent. Here seats were arranged for a crowd of people, all of which were, of course, empty at present; but the whole of the center of the tent was occupied by a wide arena covered with sand. In the middle of this space stood Uncle Ben. He had a big whip in his hand, and looked very fierce and terrible.

"There you are at last, Sarah!" he called out. "Oh, and there are the kids!" He stepped forward as he spoke. "Now, little missy," he said, looking full at Diana, "what would you say if I was to put you on top of a horse's back? You wouldn't be frightened, would you?"

"No," replied Diana.

"I don't believe you would. I believe you are a plucky little girl. Well, I'd just as lief give you a lesson straight away, for you'll have to take your part in the show in a week from now. We'll let her ride round the arena on Greased Lightning; eh, Sarah?"

"Oh, I wouldn't! Not on that 'orse," said the woman. She clasped her hands imploringly together. "Remember, Ben," she continued, speaking in a timorous voice, and her color coming and going, "remember that Greased Lightning is a very wicious sort of 'orse, and this is only a little child. Has you ever been on a 'orse's back afore, little love?"

"Sometimes," replied Diana. "And my faver said when I got older he would give me a horse of my own to wide. He said I was too young yet, you know; but I aren't fwightened," she added. "I don't mind a bit sitting on the back of G'eased Lightning. But what a funny name!"

"Right you are!" said the man. "You shall have your ride. I can see that you have plenty of pluck, young 'un. Come along, then, little missy. Tom, you go and bring out Greased Lightning this minute."

A tall lad, with red hair and a cast in one eye, now made his appearance in the arena of the circus. At Uncle Ben's words he turned abruptly, disappeared through a curtain, and a moment later re-entered, leading a very graceful chestnut horse by a bridle. The creature pawed the ground as it walked, and arched its stately neck.

"You had best have a saddle, guv'nor," said the boy.

"None of your sauce, Tom. The young 'un must learn to ride bare-back, and at once. I'll walk round with her the first time. Now then, missy."

Diana was clapping her hands; her eyes were blazing with excitement.

"It's kite 'licious," she said, jumping up and down. "I aren't fwightened," she continued; "that aren't me."

The next moment she was lifted on to the back of Greased Lightning. In all probability the horse which bore that title had never carried such a feather-weight as little Diana before. Uncle Ben began to lead him round and round the circus. Diana sat perfectly upright; she did not attempt even to clutch a hair of his mane. Uncle Ben praised her.

"You are a plucky little missy," he said. "Why, you'll do fine. Now, do you think you can stand on the horse?"

"Course," replied Diana. "What's foots for, you silly man, if not to stand? You is silly, Uncle Ben."

"I never!" said Uncle Ben, bursting out laughing. "Well, missy, if I am silly, you has got a lot of sauce. 'What's good for the goose is good for the gander.'"

"That sounds howid vulgar, and I don't underland," answered Diana, in a dignified tone. "I'll stand on my two foots if you'll hold G'eased Lightning k'ite still."

"Woe! stay quiet this minute," said the man to the horse. The pretty creature instantly obeyed, and little Diana, nothing loath, scrambled on to her small feet. The horse moved gently forward, and the little child managed to keep her balance. She went the entire round of the circus two or three times in this position, and then Uncle Ben, saying that she was a very fine little creature, and would answer his purposes to a nicety, lifted her down in the height of good humor.

"Take care of her," he said, bringing her back to Aunt Sarah; "there's a fortune in her, little mite that she is. She need not do any more to-day. Why, I'll have her trained in no time when we get down to the west of England. She'll do her work beautiful, and will take the house by storm. Now then, master, it's your turn. We must have a pair of you, you know—a boy and a girl. It's the very thing to draw crowds in the west."

But alas! Orion, notwithstanding his brave name, was made of very different stuff from his sister. He felt fear, where Diana, in all truth, did not know the meaning of the word. He shivered visibly when he was lifted on to Greased Lightning's back. Diana called out to him in an encouraging and cheery voice.

"Don't forget you is a giant," she said. "Think, of yous sword and yous belt. Now then, gee up! pretty horse; I only wishes I was widing you."

"Come, young master, don't clutch the mane so hard," said Holt. "Hands off, I say! Greased Lightning won't stand that kind of treatment."

But the more the manager spoke the tighter did Orion grasp the black mane of the chestnut horse. Greased Lightning began to paw the ground and to show many signs of discomfort; whereupon Orion uttered a piercing cry and began slipping backwards, towards the tail of the beast.

"Come," said the man; "get back to your seat this minute. I have a whip in my hand, and it can sting; come, young sir!"

"Don't you dare to stwike my bwother!" said Diana, running across the arena.

Some girls, who had just come in, and several men, all burst out laughing.

"You had best come back, miss; you had best not anger him," said a fair-haired girl, stretching out her hand to the little child as she spoke.

"Anger him?" said Diana. "I doesn't know what you mean. Does you think I are going to let Orion be hurted? Listen to me, man. You had best let Orion jump off this morning, 'cos he's tired. I'll talk to him all about widing to-morrow. Let him get down now, p'ease, big man."

"Not until he has been twice round the circus," said Uncle Ben. "You stand aside, missy, or Greased Lightning may tread on you."

But Diana was not to be so easily restrained. She now flew up to Uncle Ben and tried to pull his big whip from his hand.

"You don't dare to stwike my bwother!" she repeated, her eyes flashing. Her determined attitude, the fearlessness of her whole little nature induced Uncle Ben to yield to her for the nonce. This he did more, particularly as he saw that the little boy was really incapable of keeping his seat another moment.

"Well, then, look here, little miss," he said; "you has behaved very well indeed yourself, and so I'll let the little chap off this morning. Now you know, sir, it is 'cos of your sister, for she's a plucky 'un; so you may go back to my wife. Here, Sarah; take the pair of 'em. You can go and sit on one of them chairs over there, children, and see us as we go through our rehearsal."

The rest of the morning was a truly exciting, not to say breathless, time to Diana. She had not an instant to regret her absence from Iris and Apollo. The exploits, the feats performed by the three circus girls, and by Tom the clown, to say nothing of the advent of the elephant and of the donkey who could perform numberless tricks, and finally, the performances of the troop of dogs, who seemed more human than most human beings, all fascinated the little girl. Even Orion forgot his terrors as he looked on; his cheeks flamed through their walnut dye, and his dark eyes grew brighter than ever.

When the rehearsal was at last over, the whole party rushed back to their rooms, where a hasty meal was served; and little Diana sat between two of the circus girls and was petted, and laughed at, and made much of, and Orion kept close to Aunt Sarah, who took care that he should have as many tit-bits as she could manage to secure for him.

At three o'clock there was a public performance, but now neither Diana nor Orion was allowed to be present. They found themselves shut up once more in the ugly little room, where Mother Rodesia had first taken them. From this place they could hear as a sort of distant echo the shouts of the men and women who were performing, and the cheers of the people who were looking on.

At six o'clock the performance came to an end, and then, indeed, began a fearful bustle and excitement. People were running here, there, and everywhere, and, two hours later, the great vans were all packed, the animals properly secured, and the party, with the exception of Aunt Sarah, Diana, and Orion, had started en route for the west of England.

"Why isn't we going with the others?" asked Diana.

"'Cos the train is faster, little miss," answered Aunt Sarah. "And now the cab is at the door, and, if you will jump in at once we will be at the station in no time."

"I calls it lovely," said Diana, turning to secure Orion's approval. "I like it miles better nor lessons with Miss Wamsay nor being beated by Aunt Jane. Only, course," she added, in a meditative voice, "I's twuly, twuly sossy for Uncle William and Iris and Apollo."



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE HEART OF THE LITTLE MOTHER.

It may seem almost impossible to believe that two little children could be kidnaped in the England of to-day. Nevertheless, such was the case. Mother Rodesia had managed her theft with great skill. The gypsies had appeared unexpectedly in the Fairy Dell—no one knew they were there, therefore no one looked for them. Having kidnaped the children, Mother Rodesia took care immediately to bury their clothes, and then she sold them to Ben Holt, the great circus manager, who took them within a few hours right away to the southwest of England. The little children had not accompanied the troupe, but had gone with Aunt Sarah by train. There had been little fuss and no apparent attempt at hiding the pair, therefore no one thought of looking for them in the large southwestern town where Holt established his great circus.

It was the most popular time of the year for performing shows of all sorts, and Ben Holt expected to make a considerable sum of money out of the pretty and vivacious little pair.

Meanwhile, the police were on their track; advertisements about them were scattered all over the country—considerable rewards were offered, and there was more than one nearly broken heart in the pretty Rectory of Super-Ashton.

Even Aunt Jane felt by no means herself. She would not own to having done anything wrong, but she became wonderfully gentle to Iris and Apollo. She was unremitting, too, in her efforts to recover the lost children, and began to look quite peaky about the face and lined round the mouth.

As to Uncle William, he preached nothing but old sermons, finding it beyond his powers to devote his attention to anything fresh or new. He hated the study window where little Diana had lain in his arms—he hated the memory of the whip which he had used over her. On one occasion he even went the length of saying to his wife:

"Jane, it was your doing—she was too spirited a child for the treatment you subjected her to. She ought never to have been whipped. But for you she would not have run away."

This was a very terrible moment for Aunt Jane, and she was too much cowed and stricken to reply a single word to her husband. He could not help, notwithstanding his great anxiety, having a momentary sense of pleasure when he found that he had got the upper hand of his clever wife; but Aunt Jane had it out with the servants and the parishioners afterwards, and so revenged herself after a fashion.

As to Iris, a very sad change came over her. She grew thin and very pale; she scarcely ate anything, and scarcely ever spoke. Even Apollo, even little Ann quite failed to comfort her. She did not complain, but she went about with a drooping look, somewhat like a little flower which wants water.

"Iris is not well," Miss Ramsay said one morning to Mrs. Dolman. "She does not eat her food, and when I went into her bedroom last night I found that she was wide awake, and had evidently been silently crying. I think she ought to see a doctor!"

"Dear, dear!" replied Mrs. Dolman. "Do you know, Miss Ramsay, I am almost sorry I undertook the charge of the little Delaneys. They certainly have turned out, as their poor father expressed it, a handful. If Iris is really ill, I had better see her. Send her to me. You don't suppose she is—fretting?"

"Yes; of course she is fretting dreadfully," replied Miss Ramsay. "And no wonder, poor little girl! For my part, I consider it perfectly awful to contemplate the fate of those poor lost children."

"Oh, they will be found—they are likely to return here any day," replied Mrs. Dolman. "It is just like you, Miss Ramsay, to go to the fair with things, and to imagine the very worst. Why, for instance, should not some very kind people have found the children? Why must they, as a matter of course, have fallen into the hands of cruel and unprincipled folk? Some of the very sharpest detectives in Scotland Yard are on their track. For my part, I have not the slightest doubt that they will soon be brought back."

Miss Ramsay uttered a sigh.

"I will send Iris down to speak to you," she said.

This conversation occurred between three and four weeks after little Orion and Diana had disappeared. Mrs. Dolman was in her study. It was a very ugly room, sparsely furnished. There was a large, old-fashioned desk in the center of the room, and she was seated in an armchair in front of it, busily engaged making up her different tradesmen's books, when the door was softly opened and Iris came in.

Mrs. Dolman had not had any special conversation with Iris since the mysterious disappearance of the two younger children, and now, as she raised her eyes and looked at her attentively, she was startled at the great change in her appearance. The child was reduced almost to a shadow. She was dressed in her heavy black, without a touch of relieving white. Her lovely hair hung over her shoulders, and was pushed back from her low brow, bringing into greater contrast the small, pinched, white face, and the great brown eyes, which looked now too big for the little countenance to which they belonged.

"Come here, Iris," said Mrs. Dolman. She had always liked Iris the best of the children. "Come and tell me what is the matter."

Iris came slowly forward.

"Miss Ramsay says that you do not eat and do not sleep. If that is the case, I must send for the doctor to see you," continued Aunt Jane.

"Yes, Aunt Jane," answered Iris.

She hung her head listlessly. Mrs. Dolman put her arm round the slender waist and drew the child close to her side. Iris submitted to this embrace without in any way returning it.

"And when you see the doctor he will, of course, order you a tonic, and perhaps tell us to take you to the seaside. If that is the case, we must do so, Iris—we must do our duty by you, whatever happens. It would never do for you to be ill, you understand."

"Yes, Aunt Jane," answered Iris; "that's what I think myself—it would never do."

"Then you will try to get well, dear? You will do exactly what the doctor says?"

"Yes, Aunt Jane."

Mrs. Dolman looked earnestly into her little niece's face.

"You know," she said, in a brisk voice, "I am, for my part, quite certain that we shall get tidings of the lost children either to-day or to-morrow. We are not leaving a stone unturned to get them back."

Iris raised her delicate brows, and for a moment there came a flashing light of hope into her eyes; but then it died out. She lowered her lashes and did not speak.

"You are pale, and your hands are hot," said Mrs. Dolman.

"I feel hot," answered Iris, "and I am thirsty," she added.

"Oh, come! this will never do," said Aunt Jane. "I shall just take you away this minute to see the doctor."

She rose impatiently as she spoke. The apathy which was over Iris irritated her more than she could express. If the child had only burst into tears, or even defied her as little Diana used to do, she felt that she could comprehend matters a great deal better.

"If we are quick, we may see Dr. Kent before he goes on his rounds," she said. "Run upstairs at once, Iris, and fetch your hat."

Iris immediately left the room.

"The child looks as if something had stunned her," thought Mrs. Dolman to herself. "I never saw such a queer expression on any little girl's face. Now, I am quite certain if Philip or Conrad had been kidnaped, that Lucy and Mary would be a great deal too sensible to act in this silly way. The worst of it is, too, that there is nothing really to lay hold of, for the child does not even complain—she simply suffers. What am I to do? How am I to tell the children's father that two of them have disappeared, and the eldest, his favorite, too, is very ill?"

Iris re-entered the room, with her sun-bonnet hanging on her arm.

"Put it on, my dear, put it on; and brisk up a little," said Mrs. Dolman. "There is no good in giving way to your feelings."

"I never give way to them, Aunt Jane. I try to be patient," answered Iris.

Mrs. Dolman tied on her own bonnet with her usual vigor. She then took one of the hot little hands in hers, and, a few moments later, the aunt and niece were standing outside Dr. Kent's door in the pretty little village street.

Dr. Kent was at home. He was a young man, and a clever doctor, and he gave Iris a good overhauling. He listened to her lungs and heart, put several questions to her, was kind in his manner, and did not express the least surprise when he heard that the little girl could neither eat nor sleep.

"I perfectly understand," he said. "And now, my dear, I hope soon to have you as right as a trivet; but, in the meantime, I should like to have a little talk with your aunt. Can you find your way into my dining room? You have only to turn to the left when you leave this room."

"Thank you," answered Iris. She went to the door, opened it, and shut it behind her.

"Now, what do you think about her?" said Aunt Jane. "Out with the truth, please, Dr. Kent. You know I never can stand any beating about the bush."

"There is nothing of the ordinary nature the matter with your little niece," began the doctor.

Mrs. Dolman raised her brows in surprise and indignation.

"How can you say that?" she remarked. "The child looks seriously ill."

"Please allow me to finish my speech. There is nothing the matter with the child in the form of organic or any other disease; but just at present there is such a severe strain on her mind that, if it is not completely relieved, she is very likely to die."

"Doctor! What a terrible thing to say!"

"It is true. The child needs rousing—she is losing all interest in life. She has been subjected to a terrible shock."

"Of course she has," replied Mrs. Dolman; "but the extraordinary thing is that a child of ten years of age should feel it so much."

"It is not extraordinary in that sort of child," replied the doctor. "Can you not see for yourself that she has a very delicate and a very nervous organism. She has lately, too, lost her mother, has she not?"

"Yes; and I believe the child was very fond of her; but, indeed, I may as well say that I never saw anyone more sensible than little Iris about that. She scarcely seemed to grieve at all. Of course, I dare say she was very sorry, but she did not show it."

"All the worse for her," answered Dr. Kent. "If she had given way about her mother, and allowed her grief to get the upper hand, she would not be so ill as she is now. Then came the second blow—the extraordinary loss of the children."

"Then you really think her very ill?" said Mrs. Dolman. "I would do anything to save her, doctor. These four children were put into my care by their father."

"Where is the father now?" asked Dr. Kent.

"He must have nearly reached the Himalayas by this time."

"Is it possible for you to communicate with him?"

"To say the truth, I have hesitated to do so. He suffered terribly at the death of his wife. It would be fearful for him to learn that two of the children are missing, and one very ill. I have waited, hoping for better news."

"You did wrong. He ought to know of this calamity. Each day that does not give you tidings of the missing children lessens the chance of your ever recovering them. I must say their disappearance is most mysterious."

"So it is," answered Aunt Jane suddenly. "And in my heart of hearts," she added, "I am greatly alarmed."

"Well, if I were you, I would send a cablegram to the address most likely to find Mr. Delaney."

"If you think it right."

"I do. It is the only thing to do. He ought to come home immediately. That little girl ought to have her father with her."

"Then your opinion is that Iris is very ill?"

"She is on her way to be very ill. At the same time, if her mind is relieved, she will be well in a week. Under existing circumstances, however, there seems but small chance of that. You ought to communicate with the father, and if I were you I would let the child do something herself—even if that something is useless—to try to recover her lost brother and sister."

"What do you mean? It really is impossible for the child to go over the country looking for Orion and Diana. Oh, what trouble I brought upon myself when I undertook the care of my brother's family!"

"I am very sorry for you, Mrs. Dolman, but I must give you my true opinion. Please act on my suggestion; I am sure you will not regret it. Communicate with the father in the quickest way possible, urge him to return to London without fail, and give little Iris something to do which will occupy and satisfy her mind. In the meantime I will order her a tonic, but medicines are not what she needs. She requires mind rest, and nothing else will make her well."

Mrs. Dolman left Dr. Kent's house, feeling very uncomfortable. She took Iris home, was wonderfully gentle to her during the walk, and sent her up to the schoolroom with a message to Miss Ramsay to say that she was not to do any more lessons that morning. Having got rid of Iris, she went immediately to have an interview with her husband in his study.

"Well, William," she said, "I own myself beaten."

"My dear Jane—beaten? In what way?"

"Here's a pretty mess," continued Mrs. Dolman; "Orion and Diana cannot be found, and Dr. Kent says that Iris is going to be very ill."

"Iris going to be ill?" repeated Mr. Dolman. "Has she caught anything taking. If so, Jane, it would be our duty to separate the children immediately."

"Oh, nonsense, William! Where would she take a catching complaint in a wholesome, well-sanitated rectory like this? Have you never heard of nerve troubles?"

Mr. Dolman opened his sleepy eyes and stared full at his wife.

"My dear," he said, "I often thought that you had never heard of them. So you really believe in them at last?"

"I am forced to when that pretty child is dying from the effects of them."

Mrs. Dolman then repeated to her husband all that Dr. Kent had said.

"I cannot stand the responsibility any longer," she said. "I will send a cablegram to David this very day. What will he think of me? Of course he will never forgive me. In the meantime, William, have you anything to propose about little Iris?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Dolman. "There may not be much in my suggestion; but the fact is, I feel dreadfully restless, sitting here day after day, doing nothing."

"William, what do you mean?" answered his wife. "Sitting here day after day, doing nothing! Have you not your parish to attend to?"

"Oh, I don't mean that—you attend to the parish, my love."

"Thank you, William, for acknowledging that fact at last."

"I frankly acknowledge it. Then, too, we have no sick poor in the parish, and everything is really in a prosperous condition; but the fact is, I hate sitting down to my comfortable meals, and lying down at night on my comfortable bed, not knowing in what part of the world dear, spirited little Diana may be. I don't think half so much about the boy as little Diana."

"You are like all the rest of your sex, William; you are taken by a child because it happens to be a girl and has a pair of black eyes. For my part, I never could bear little Diana."

"Please don't say that now."

"Oh, it is not that I am not sorry for her; of course, I am dreadfully sorry, and I acknowledge—I do acknowledge—that I have been more or less to blame. But now, please, come to the point—you always were such a man for going round and round a subject."

"Well, then," said Mr. Dolman, "this is it. The doctor wishes Iris to be roused. Let me take both her and Apollo, and let us begin to look for the lost children."

"And do you suppose," answered Mrs. Dolman, with a laugh, "that you will be more likely to find the children than the clever detectives who are on their track?"

"We can go to London and take a detective with us. Iris will at once feel happier if she is doing something. The fact is this: I am certain the inaction is killing her."

"It is an extraordinary plan," said Mrs. Dolman; "but after all, if it is the only way to keep Iris alive, I suppose we must consider it. But, William, I am the suitable one to take Iris and Apollo about. Indeed, why should Apollo go at all? He at least is in perfect health."

"The person to consider is Iris," said Mr. Dolman. "She will confide in Apollo when she will not confide in anyone else; and I think, Jane," he added, looking very strong and determined, "that she would rather go with me than with you." Mrs. Dolman flushed. "You know, Jane," continued her husband, "you have been a little hard on these children."

"Perhaps so," answered Mrs. Dolman, "and when I have tried to do my duty, too. But, of course, Evangeline's children were likely to be unmanageable; they had such extraordinary training when they were babies. However, as matters stand, I have not a word to say."

"Then, my dear, we will consider the thing arranged. We can easily get John Burroughs to lend us one of his curates for Sunday, and you will do all the rest. Now, shall I see Iris and submit the plan to her?"

"An extraordinary plan it is," answered Mrs. Dolman; "but perhaps you are right, William. At any rate, I have proved myself so completely in the wrong that I am willing on this occasion to be guided by you."

She rose from her seat, left the room, and went up to the schoolroom.

"Iris," she said to the little girl, "I want you and Apollo to come downstairs immediately."

Iris sprang to her feet; she grew white to her lips.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked.

"No, my dear, nothing—nothing whatever; only your uncle wishes to speak to you. Now, come at once, for he is not the sort of man to be kept waiting."

Mrs. Dolman left the room and the children followed her. When they reached the study, Iris went straight up to her uncle.

"What do you want with me, Uncle William?" she asked.

"The fact is this," he answered, scarcely looking at her, and speaking with great eagerness and emphasis for him; "you and I, Iris, have got to do something, and there is not a moment to delay."

A great flood of color filled Iris' cheeks, a new light darted into her eyes.

"Oh, yes, Uncle William," she said, panting as she spoke, "we have been doing nothing too long. It has nearly killed me, Uncle William," she added.

"Then, my dear, we will just be our own detectives—you and I and Apollo. We will start this very afternoon; we will look for the children ourselves. Why, what is the matter, my dear; what is the matter? What are you doing?"

For little Iris had fallen on her knees, had caught her uncle's hand in both of hers, and was pressing it frantically to her lips.

"Oh, Uncle William," she said, "how can I thank you? I promised mother the day she died that I would be a little mother to the others, and I have failed, I have failed dreadfully, and it is killing me, Uncle William. But oh, if I can find them again, and if you will really help me, and if we do start to-day—oh, if this is true, then I am happy again."

"You observe, my dear Jane," said Mr. Dolman, "that my proposal seems to be correct. Now, run off, Iris, and get Simpson to pack some clothes for you and Apollo. We will leave Super-Ashton by the three o'clock train."



CHAPTER XIX.

"A PIGMY I CALL HIM."

The seaside town of Madersley was crowded to excess. It was the height of the summer season, and Holt's circus was doing a roaring trade. There were two exhibitions daily, and every available corner in the great tent was crammed to excess. The spectators said that they came principally to see the little dark-eyed girl ride. For Diana had taken to the life almost as kindly as a young duck takes to the water. She had learned her part quickly, and in a very short time she could ride even the most spirited horse. She was really almost destitute of fear, and was even seen to laugh when she was put upon the back of a buck-jumper, who did his utmost to toss her off. There were always men or women close by to catch her if she did fail to go through any of the rings, the large paper balloons, or the other obstructions put in her way. Her piquant little face, the bold expression of her eyes, her fearless manner, and the unmistakable look of babyhood about her, roused the spectators to a frenzy of admiration.

But though Diana did well and delighted Ben Holt, Orion by no means followed her example. Put to the test, poor little Orion had little of the real giant about him. He was an ordinary little boy, with pretty black eyes and a good-humored, somewhat touching expression of face, but Diana was anything but an ordinary girl.

Orion, having slipped once or twice from the back of Greased Lightning, became terribly afraid of the beast, and always turned white to his little lips when he was going through his exercises. As a rule, Ben Holt always trained the novices himself, and although he was kind to Diana, he soon began to have a thorough contempt for little Orion.

"He's a peaky little chap," he said to his wife. "Why, he aint even worth the twenty shillin's I paid for 'im. Now the little 'un—the gal—there's a fortune in her; but the boy—I have no patience with the boy."

Meanwhile, he began to use rough language and threats to the child, and once or twice he even touched the little fellow with his great whip. On this occasion Orion lost every scrap of nerve he possessed, and fell flat down upon the sanded floor of the arena, shivering and crying painfully. Diana did not happen to be present. When she was by, small child that she was, Uncle Ben never showed at his worst, and Orion, looking round now in vain for his sister, gave himself up for lost.

"Now listen to me, you young villain," said the tyrant; "I'll force you to do what I want. You get on Greased Lightning's back this very minute."

Little Orion struggled painfully to his feet. A good-natured girl, who stood near, tried to say a word in his favor.

"Don't you forget that he's very young, Ben Holt," she said. "It will be all the worse for you if you are too hard on the little kid."

"I'll thank you not to give me any of your sauce, Susan Jenkins," was the angry reply.

Susan Jenkins, a pretty, slight, fair-haired girl, who went by the graceful name of Ariel in the circus programme, did not venture to say anything further, but in her heart she resolved to give Diana a hint of the true state of the case.

Orion was once more lifted on Greased Lightning's back, and the manager cracking his whip, the beautiful horse began to trot round and round the arena. At first the creature went fairly quietly, and Orion managed to keep his seat. His piteous white face, the black shadows under his eyes, his little trembling hands were noticed, however, by Susan. She kept near on purpose and tried to encourage him by smiles and nods. When he passed close to her he heard her hearty voice saying, "Well done, little chap! You jest stick on and you'll be as right as a trivet."

A strangled sob by way of answer rose in Orion's throat. Alas! he knew only too well that he could not stick on. Louder and faster grew the crack of the manager's whip, and faster and fleeter trotted Greased Lightning. It was impossible for Orion to keep his seat; he had nothing to cling to, nothing to hold on to.

"You will have to do all this before the company to-morrow," called out the manager; "and now, no more of that easy sitting still. You jest scramble to your feet and stand on the 'orse's back."

"I can't! I'll be killed!" cried the child, whose face was white to his very lips.

Crack went the great whip.

"Stand up this minute, or you'll have a taste of this about your legs," said the man, in a brutal tone.

In deadly fear the little fellow struggled to his feet; he looked wildly round him, the horse trotted forward, the child fell on his face and hands and clutched hold of the black mane. This enraged the spirited beast, who began to dance and curvet about, and the next moment, but for the speedy interference of Susan Jenkins, little Orion would have measured his length upon the floor. Even as it was he was hurt and shaken, and lay weeping and trembling in her arms.

"Now, Susan, you jest listen to me," said Holt, in an enraged voice. "I aint a-goin' to stand this sort of thing. That little chap has got to learn his lesson or he don't stay here; he is not a patch on his sister, but he shall learn his part. I has it all arranged that them two children is to appear in public to-morrow, and the boy must help the gal. The gal will do her work right well, but the boy must help her. It's the look of the two, and they so young, that I reckon on to fill the house. I'm determined that a mite of that sort shan't beat me. He could have stood on the horse's back if he had had a mind. He has disobeyed me and he shall be punished. You take 'im and lock 'im up in the black cage."

The black cage was a terrible place, in which some of the fiercer animals were put from time to time to train them. It really consisted of a huge box without windows, but with one or two small ventilating shafts in the door. On rare occasions, when thoroughly enraged, the manager had been known to lock a refractory member of the troupe up there; but such a punishment had never been given to a child before.

"Oh, no, Ben Holt! You can't mean that," said Susan. "Why, it'll frighten him awful, and it do smell so bad of the last leopard."

But for this answer the poor girl only got a crack of the whip round her ankles.

What might have really happened at the end is not known; but suddenly at this juncture the swing door was flung open and little Diana marched in. She held her head well back, and trotted boldly into the center of the arena.

"Dear, dear, what's all this fuss?" she cried out in her frank, hearty voice. "Uncle Ben, is anybody a-vexing of you?"

"Yes, my dear; that little brother of yours. You jest tell him to do his duty."

"Oh, Diana, Diana! he's killing me!" sobbed little Orion. He struggled out of Susan's arms, flew to his sister, flung the whole weight of his little body against her, and gave way to a fresh agony of howling and weeping.

Diana's black eyes flashed.

"You stay k'iet. Orion; 'member you is a giant," she said, speaking in a whisper to the boy. "I's here, and I'll look after you. You stay k'iet. Now, Uncle Ben, what's all this?"

"Only that silly boy won't ride Greased Lightning. He won't even stand on the 'orse, let alone leap through the rings and the balloons."

"Is that all?" said Diana, her eyes gleaming. "But I can do all that; I can do all that beautiful. Dear G'eased Lightning!" She unclasped Orion's arms from her neck and trotted across the stage. She ran up to the great chestnut and began to stroke its nose. The creature licked her little hand and looked affectionately down at her small figure.

"Uncle Ben," she said suddenly, "I isn't going to have Orion punished; you isn't to do it; give him to me. You can't do anything with a little sild like that if you fwighten him. Give him to me, Uncle Ben; I'll manage him."

"But what are you but a little child yourself?" said Uncle Ben.

"Yes, but I is made different. Nothing fwightens me. I aren't afeared of nothing, and I aren't afeared of you, Uncle Ben, so don't you begin to think I is."

"Never seed sech a child," said Uncle Ben, once more restored to good humor. "Jest notice that perfect demon of a 'orse, how 'e takes to 'er. Never seed anything like it afore. Well, missy, and if you can manage your brother I'm sure I'll be only too pleased, but jest you remember this—you are both to go before the footlights to-morrow for the public to see. I has never had that young 'un on the stage yet, but he's to ride with you to-morrow."

"So he shall, Uncle Ben; course you will, won't you, Orion?"

"With you, Di," sobbed Orion; "if you are close to me, Di."

"Course I'll be close to you, Orion. I is the gweat Diana. Well, Uncle Ben, you isn't going to punish him. If you punish him he can't wide, 'cos he'll be ill. He's a giant."

"A pigmy I call him," said Uncle Ben.

"You talk silly," replied Diana; "he's a giant, 'cos mother said he was, and on starful nights you can see him shining in the sky."

"Bless you, child, don't take up any more of my time talking that gibberish."

"Well, he's not to be punished, 'cos I say he isn't. He's coming with me now to his dinner. Come 'long, Orion, this minute; I has come to fetch you. Good-by, Uncle Ben."

Uncle Ben did not utter a word. Orion and Diana left the arena, hand in hand.

"What about the black cage now, mister?" said the circus girl, with a sneer.

"Hang me, if I know what the world's coming to!" said Uncle Ben, scratching his head. "I can do nothing agen that little gal—she's the 'cutest, sharpest, bravest little cuss I ever come across."

"She's got the upper hand of you, leastways," said Susan, with a laugh; "and, for my part," she added, "I am right glad. I don't want that pore little kid to be used hard."



CHAPTER XX.

"LET'S PERTEND," SAID DIANA.

The circus was crowded that evening, but neither Diana nor Orion put in an appearance. They were to make their grand debut together on the following day, for hitherto only Diana had ridden in public. They were left now in the little room, all alone, but as they were together that did not matter at all to them. Orion's weary head rested against his sister's shoulder. Her stout little arm was flung round his waist; he was fast asleep, but there were traces of tears on his pale cheeks. It seemed a very long time now to little Orion since all the world had altered for him. From being a beautiful place, full of lovely gardens, and lovely homes, and kind people—from being full of snug little beds to sleep in, and nice food to eat, and loving services of all sorts—it had suddenly turned and shown its black face to the tenderly nurtured little boy. Rough words were now his portion; he had a hard bed to lie on, very insufficient and very poor food to eat, and in addition to these things, blows and kicks were measured out to him with a very liberal hand. Besides these fearful things, he was expected to do what terrified him into the very core of his somewhat timorous heart. Until he had been kidnaped by Mother Rodesia he had never known that he was really timid, but now this side of his nature had come to the fore. Day by day he grew more and more frightened, and for the last fortnight he really lost his appetite, and his health began to fail. He refused to eat the coarse and insufficient food, and when he slept his sleep was broken by bad dreams. Little Diana knew that there was something very wrong the matter, but she could not quite tell what. She had a very energetic little brain, however, and it was working now hard in Orion's behalf.

The noise and shouts made by the circus people were distinctly audible to the two little children. Orion raised his head, looked around him with a terrified glance, and began to cry feebly.

"Is Uncle Ben coming? Have I got to ride Greased Lightning? Di, are you there? are you close to me?"

"Course I is," answered Diana. "Orion, don't you be such a silly; I is with you. There's nothing going to happen."

"Nothing? Are you certain sure?" asked the child.

"K'ite. I is with you, Orion; don't you be fwightened; there's nothing going to happen."

Orion leaned comfortably back against the fat little shoulder.

"P'w'aps you is a bit hung'y," said Diana. "There's bwead and milk on the table; Aunt Sawah left it. Shall we eat our supper afore we talks?"

"I can't eat," replied Orion. "I'm not a scrap hungry; I am never hungry now. I wonder you can eat, Diana."

"Course I can eat," replied Diana; "I aren't a silly. I has got to wide G'eased Lightning. I love G'eased Lightning. Don't know why you is fwightened of him."

"But I am to ride Pole Star, and he's worse than Greased Lightning," replied Orion.

"Well, you listen to me," said Diana, speaking in a very firm and authoritative voice. "See, I am eating up my supper, and you had best have some with me. I'll sit by you on the floor, if you like, and feed you same as if you was a baby."

"But you are younger nor me," said Orion, with a little laugh; "seems, though, as if you were much older."

"Can't help that," answered Diana; "can't help feelin' old, whether we is nor not. You is almost a baby—I is k'ite a big girl. Now, open your mouth; I am going to pop in some food. Here's a vedy nice piece of bwead."

Orion did what Diana wished, but he could scarcely eat. Tears came suddenly into his eyes.

"I wish I was dead, like poor Rub-a-Dub," he said, after a pause; "I wish I was lying in the beautiful garden, in the cemetery part with Rub-a-Dub."

"Oh, don't be such a silly!" said Diana. "You has a lot to do afore you is deaded. Don't forget that you is a star and a giant."

"No, that I aren't," said the child. "Oh, Di! if mother was here she would be disappointed, for I am not a star, nor yet a giant. I'm just the frightenest little boy in the world."

"I has thought of a plan," said Diana very calmly. "You shan't wide Pole Star to-morrow; you shall wide G'eased Lightning."

"But I am nearly as frightened of one horse as the other."

"I know G'eased Lightning k'ite well by this time," continued Diana, "and if I are there he'll be gentle. You shall wide him, and I'll wide Pole Star."

"But I heard Uncle Ben say that I was to have the other horse."

"Never you mind that. What does that si'nify? I'll manage. I'm not fwightened of any horse that ever walked. If I are there, and if I look at G'eased Lightning, he'll be as good as good can be, and you must just keep looking at me, Orion, and do the things that I do. When you see me standing on Pole Star you must stand on your two foots on G'eased Lightning, and when we fly faster and faster you must still keep looking at me, and when I jump through the wings you must do the same, and then, Orion, then, why, it will be over. Now, bend down; I'm going to whisper something to you."

Orion bent his ear with deep interest.

"You don't mean it?" he said, when Diana had said some very energetic words in a low voice.

"Yes, I does. Does I say things I doesn't mean? I means it twuly, twuly. You wide G'eased Lightning, and then—then it'll all be over."

"Oh, I really think I can, if you are quite sure," said Orion. His little face brightened up, two fever spots came into his cheeks; his eyes shone.

"Are you quite sure, Di?" he said.

"Pos'tive certain. Now, lie down if you like, and go to s'eep."

"I could eat a bit more supper," said Orion. "I'm kind of hungry now that you has told me you is positive, Di."

"All wight," answered Diana. "There's a teeny dwop of milk left. Course I was hungry and thirsty, and my trof was dry, but you shall drink up the last dwop of milk. Here now, isn't you better?"

"I am really, truly," said Orion; "but are you quite certain it's true, Di?"

"K'ite. Do you think I would tell a lie? I is the gweat Diana. You is sort of forgetting, Orion."

"No, I aren't," said Orion. "Oh, I am happy now!"

"Well, lie down. I'll make up your bed, and you shall go to s'eep. We has a lot to do to-morrow, hasn't we?"

"Yes, a lot," answered Orion, with a little laugh. "Oh, Di! will they let us?"

"Course they'll let us," said Diana. "I has it all settled beautiful. Now, go to s'eep, p'ease, Orion."

Orion did very soon enter the land of dreams, but little Diana lay broad awake. She was thinking hard, and her thoughts were wonderfully sensible for such a baby.

The performance at the circus had turned out a great success. Diana had already appeared once or twice on Greased Lightning's back, but Ben Holt now kept her out of sight on purpose. He had caused rumors to be spread about her wonderful riding; his aim was to make people very anxious to see her again. He wanted the public to have a sort of craving for her. He hoped that when she finally appeared, dressed as the great Diana, with the bow and arrows, and when little Orion accompanied her with his girdle round his waist, and a sword in his hand, and when the two children rode round and round the circus on the fleetest horses in the company, that they would in very truth bring down the house—in short, that crowds would come to see them.

Uncle Ben was full of hope with regard to Diana, but he was by no means so sure as far as Orion was concerned. If Orion would not play his part well, and look what he was—one of the prettiest boys in England, and one of the very youngest who had ever appeared in a circus—why, half the effect would be lost. He began to perceive, however, that cruelty had little or no effect on the child, and he was inclined to allow that little genius, Diana, to manage him in her own way.

That night when the entertainment had come to an end, and Uncle Ben was seated at his cozy supper, he was much surprised when the door of the room was pushed suddenly open and a small girl, clad in a little white nightdress, made her appearance.

"Is my dear Uncle Ben anywhere about?" called out the clear little voice.

"My word! if that aint little Diana," said the man. "Come here this minute, you little romp, and get on my knee."

Diana flew up to him, climbed on his knee, put her arms round his neck, and kissed him.

"You's sort o' fond of me, I'm thinking," she said.

"Yes, that I be, missy," he answered; "you are the 'cutest little gal I ever seed, and you are fond of poor Uncle Ben, eh?"

"It all apends," replied Diana.

"Now what do you mean by that, missy?"

"It all apends," she repeated.

"Wife, can you understand her?" questioned the man.

"I think she means that it all depends, Ben."

"Oh, depends—on what now, my dear?"

"On whether you is good to my bwother or not."

"Oh, is that all? Well, I'll be good to 'im."

"He's awfu' fwightened of you."

"Well, he needn't be. If you'll manage him I won't say a word."

"Won't you twuly? Then I love you," said Diana. "Now, listen to me—I has been a-talking to him."

"That's right, missy. Have a sip of my stout, won't you?"

"No; I don't like it; it's black, nasty stuff. Put it away; I won't touch it. Well, now, listen to me, Uncle Ben. It apends altogether on whether you is good to Orion to-morrow or not whether he wides well, or whether he wides badly, and what I think is this—"

"Well, missy, you are a very wise little miss for your age."

"What I think is this," repeated Diana. "Let Orion wide G'eased Lightning and let me wide Pole Star."

"But you can do anything with Greased Lightning," said the man. "Why, the 'orse fairly loves you, and Pole Star's a rare and wicious sort of beast."

"I aren't fwightened; that aren't me," said Diana, in her usual proud, confident tone. "Orion isn't to wide a wicious sort of beast."

She slipped down from the man's knees and stood before him.

"It aren't me to be fwightened of any horse," she said. "I never was and I never will be."

"I believe yer, miss," said Uncle Ben, gazing at her with great admiration.

"But Orion he is—he is awfu' fwightened of Pole Star, and he sha'n't wide him. Now, G'eased Lightning, he'll do anything for me, and so what I say is this—let Orion wide him, and if he begins to dance about and get sort of fidgety, why, I'll stwoke him down. You know I could pwactice widing a little on Pole Star in the morning."

"To be sure you could, missy."

"Oh, my dear Ben," said Aunt Sarah at that moment, "you are never a-going to let either of them little kids ride a 'orse like Pole Star?"

"You let me manage my own affairs," said the man, scowling angrily.

"Well, I call it a shame," answered the woman.

"Poor Aunt Sawah! you needn't be fwightened," said Diana. "I is never fwightened; that aren't me. I'll wide Pole Star, and Orion, he'll wide G'eased Lightning, only—now, Uncle Ben, is you listening?"

"Yes, to be sure I am, missy," said Uncle Ben, taking another deep draught from his big glass of stout. "What's the 'only,' little miss?"

"Let's pertend," said Diana.

"Pretend what, missy?"

"That after Orion has done it, after he has wode G'eased Lightning, he may go 'way."

"Go away, missy?"

"Yes, let's pertend it. If he thinks he's going away after he has done it, why, there's nothing he won't twy to do, 'cos, you see, he's longing to go. Let's say this to him: 'Orion, you's good boy, you's darlin' boy, and when you has done what I want you to do, you shall go way'—then he'll do it beaut'ful."

"But he aint a-going," said the man, "he's my property. I has bought him; I has bought you both. You are sort of slaves to me."

"No, I aren't a slave to nobody," said Diana, whose fierce little blood could not brook this word.

"Well, you are a very good little gal, and so I am to pretend to Orion that he's going away; but now, when I don't mean him to go, that seems sort of cruel."

"Oh, you leave it to me!" said Diana; "let him think he's going away and I'll manage. Tell Susan to tell him, and tell Aunt Sawah to tell him, and you tell him, and I'll tell him, and then he'll be as good as good, and as bwave—as bwave as a big giant."

"Well, my dear, manage it your own way," said Uncle Ben; "but, all the same, it seems a shame. I aint what's called a very soft sort of man, but it seems a shame to deceive a little kid; only you manage it your own way, little missy."

"I'll manage it my own way," echoed Diana. "I'm awfu' 'bliged."

She tripped gayly out of the room.



CHAPTER XXI.

POLE STAR.

The next day, at an early hour, the different performers had a grand rehearsal of their parts. It was a dress rehearsal. Holt was in high spirits, and Aunt Sarah, who stood just in front of the circus, petted and encouraged both Diana and Orion as much as possible. Orion felt shaky and looked very white, but the delicious thought that, after he had gone through those few minutes of agony, he might really be free to run away, to leave the dreadful, terrible circus forever, sustained him wonderfully. Diana had assured him that this could be managed. She had told him that Uncle Ben had promised that if he was a brave boy and sat well on Greased Lightning, and stood up when necessary, and, in short, went through the ordeal set him to do, without a murmur, he should be allowed to leave the circus that evening. It mattered nothing at all to little Orion that he did not know where he was to go, that he was a penniless and very small, very ignorant boy. The one object on which all his hopes were centered was the desire to get away from Uncle Ben and the terrible horses which he was forced to ride.

"Now, 'member, you is to be bwave," said Diana; "you isn't to be fwightened. If you's fwightened, Uncle Ben won't let you go. You just be as bwave as possible, and never mind nobody. Now, then, it's your turn. Come 'long."

Orion looked charming in his pretty dress. He wore a little sky-blue tunic, with small, tight knickers of white; his little legs and feet were bare, round his waist was a crimson girdle, and at his side was attached a toy sword.

Diana wore a silk skirt and tights, her curling black hair fell partly over her forehead; her bold, black eyes were full of a strange mixture of frolic, affection, and defiance. She looked the personification of healthy life and courageous fire. In her hand she held the bow of Diana, and round her neck was slung a couple of arrows. She was a wonderfully graceful child in all her movements, and looked charming in her picturesque dress.

The call for the children came, and the two bounded on the stage. The moment they did so, Diana ran up to Uncle Ben and took hold of the great whip which he carried.

"You must let me do it my own way," she said; "you have pwomised. Orion won't be bwave boy if I don't manage him. Give me that whip."

"Oh, but I say, little missy——"

"Give me that whip," repeated Diana, flashing her eyes up at the man. "I is the gweat Diana and I order you. Give me the whip; I'll slash it; I know how. Ah, here comes G'eased Lightning. Come 'long, you beauty; come 'long, you darlin'."

Diana ran fearlessly up to the horse, fondled its nose, and looked into its eyes; the creature stood perfectly still, bent its graceful head, and licked her little hand.

"And it's a perfect brute to everyone else," thought Uncle Ben to himself, but this time he did not utter a word.

The horse stood perfectly motionless until little Orion was mounted on its back.

"Now, G'eased Lightning, you has got to be a good horse," said Diana, speaking to him in a confiding voice. "You isn't to fwighten Orion; 'member he's a giant, and it's a gweat honor for you to carry him, 'cos most times he lives up in the stars."

"Come, missy, we have no time for that sort of nonsense," said Uncle Ben, who began to get impatient. "Give me back my whip."

"No; I is going to slash the whip. Come, G'eased Lightning; twot, twot, p'ease."

The horse began to amble gently forward. Little Diana went and stood by Uncle Ben's side.

"I's managing," she said; "you shall have whip to-night; but I's managing now."

The other performers stood round in breathless silence. Orion kept his seat manfully. Greased Lightning was as gentle as a lamb.

"Good boy!" called out Diana; "vedy good little boy. Good horse, G'eased Lightning! you is a vedy good horse. Now then, go faster." Diana gave the whip a crack.

The horse looked at her out of his big, intelligent eyes, and began to trot, but still very gently, round and round the circus.

"Good boy," repeated Diana; "good horse! Now then, Orion, get up on to yous two foots; don't be fwightened. 'Member what will happen when it's over. Get up on to yous foots this minute."

Poor little Orion scrambled in deadly terror on to his small feet; but the horse still went swift and smooth, neither budging nor turning to the right or the left. Diana once again cracked her whip. He went faster and faster. Orion began to lose his fear; he even laughed with excitement; the rose bloom came out on his delicate little face. The terrible hoops were brought, and the child made a manful effort to get through them. Diana cracked her whip and called out and encouraged him, and finally brought him successfully through the ordeal. He was taken off the stage wet with perspiration, and trembling all over, but at the same time he had a wild sort of triumph in his little heart.

"I did it well; didn't I, Aunt Sarah?" he said.

"You did it splendidly, my little love," said Aunt Sarah; "but I never did see a little gal like your sister. Oh, merciful Heavens! that man aint never a-going to let her ride Pole Star!"

A black horse of immense strength and size was now brought upon the stage. This horse seemed to paw the air as he walked; his eyes were bloodshot and full of a dangerous light.

"Remember it's your own fault, missy," said Uncle Ben; "this aint the 'orse I'd give you. I don't want any harm to come to you; but if you insist on that little chap, that aint a patch on you, riding Greased Lightning, why, there aint nothing for it but for you to ride Pole Star."

"You don't 'uppose I's fwightened of Pole Star? Why, he's a weal beauty," said Diana.

"He's the——" The man arrested the words on his lips.

Diana had thrown down her whip and rushed across the stage. With just the same fearless confidence as, half an hour before, she had gone up to Greased Lightning—she now approached Pole Star.

"You's pwetty, you's a darlin'," she said. She held out her tiny brown hand. "Give me a bit of sugar, somebody," she demanded.

A girl who stood near ran away to fetch a lump. The child offered it to the horse. He looked at her, pawed the ground restlessly, and then, stooping, licked the sugar off her hand as tenderly as if he were a kitten.

"Well, I never!" said Uncle Ben, breathing a great sigh of relief.

"It's a beauty horse," repeated Diana; "I like it better nor G'eased Lightning. Pole Star, I's going to wide you; you's a dear, good horse." She stroked the creature's nose—the fierce eyes grew gentle—a moment later the child was mounted on its back.

"Now, gee up, gee up!" called Diana. "P'ease, Uncle Ben, don't cwack your whip; I can manage Pole Star." She pulled at the reins, and the creature began, at first gently and then more rapidly, to run round and round the stage. After all, notwithstanding her bravery, it was an ordeal, for Pole Star could run double as fast as Greased Lightning. Soon, from running he seemed to take to flying, and little Diana gasped and lost her breath; but she sat firm as a statue, and never touched a hair of the creature's mane.

"Now, Pole Star," she called out, when the horse had stopped for want of breath; "I's going to stand on you, and you must be vedy good." She patted the animal on its head; then she scrambled to her feet, and, holding the reins taut, stood firm as an arrow, while the creature once more flew round the stage. When her ride was over she had won the applause of the whole house.

After this Diana and Orion were taken away to rest until the evening. They were given the best food and a great deal of petting from Aunt Sarah. As to Diana, she was in excellent spirits.

"Oh, please, Di; nothing will make you stop, nothing will make you break your word?" said little Orion once to her.

"What I pwomise I do," replied Diana, with dignity.

And so the hours flew by, and at last the time arrived when the children were to appear before the footlights.

The huge circus tent was packed to the highest gallery. There was, in short, not standing room in the audience part of the house. Uncle Ben, in the highest spirits, was darting here and there behind the wings, giving directions, gesticulating, ordering, rearranging. Little Diana flew up to him and took his hand.

"What is you 'cited about?" she asked. "Is you fwightened 'bout anything?"

"No, little gal, no—that is, provided you and your brother do your parts well."

"We has pwomised," said Diana, with great firmness; "you needn't be fwightened; we has pwomised."

The children were to appear as the last item of the first part of the performance. Uncle Ben felt that on them really turned the success of the evening. At last the crucial moment arrived. Two beautiful horses were led into the circus, and immediately afterwards little Diana, holding Orion by the hand, skipped on to the stage. She came lightly forward, almost up to the footlights, dropped a somewhat pert little courtesy, turned round, and, taking Orion's hand, danced up to where the two horses were impatiently pawing the ground. Uncle Ben, with his big whip in his hand, dressed in evening clothes, was standing at one side. A man came forward to help Diana to mount Pole Star—another gave his hand to Orion.

"'Member, Orion, you has pwomised, and it all apends," said Diana, in a low, but very clear, voice.

The little fellow looked at her. Her spirited action, the splendid color in her cheeks, the glow of excitement in her great big eyes, inspired him. He would not ride for those horrid people who were crowding all the seats in front, those horrid, terrible people who seemed to rise from the floor to the ceiling. He did not care anything about those faces, those cruel, staring eyes, those smiling lips; but he did care for Diana. He would ride his best for her.

"Steady, G'eased Lightning," said the little girl; "you's to be good horse, 'member. Now, Pole Star, beauty, darlin', do just what Diana wants."

The horses began to canter forward, going briskly and swiftly side by side. Greased Lightning's coal-black eye was fixed upon Diana as she sat on Pole Star's back. Pole Star felt the feather-weight of the hot hand on his mane, the touch of the little feet somewhere near his neck. There was a magnetic current of sympathy between the horse and the child.

"Think you's a giant," she said once to Orion, as she shot past him in the race.

The crowd, speechless with astonishment and delight for the first moment or two, now began to clap and cheer loudly. Crack went Uncle Ben's whip. The circus girls in the wings, the men, the clown, all watched the little pair with beating hearts. Diana they felt sure of, but what of little Orion? And yet a change had come over the child. His face was no longer pale; some of Diana's spirit seemed to have entered into his soul.

The signal came for the pair to stand upon the bare, backs of their horses. Little Orion scrambled as quickly and nimbly to his feet as Diana herself. He caught the reins; crack again went the whip; the horses flew round and round. Now and then Diana said a soft word to Greased Lightning; now and then she stamped her small foot on Pole Star's neck. Each movement, each glance of the child, seemed to thrill through the willing beast. Incomprehensible as it may seem, both these wild, half-tamed creatures loved her. They kept straight, veering neither to left nor right, for her sake.

The first part of the performance went safely through, but now came the more difficult and dangerous time. The children were now not only to ride the horses standing, but they were obliged to ride holding one foot in the air, then to keep on their steeds standing on tiptoe, and finally they had to spring through great rings made of tissue paper, and leap again upon the horses as they galloped through. Diana performed her task with unfailing exactness, always reaching the horse's back at the right moment, springing up, sitting down, standing first on one foot, then on the other, being apparently on wires, afraid of nothing, triumphant through all. Orion made a gallant effort to follow her example. In two minutes now the whole thing would be over.

"Don't be fwightened, Orion; time's nearly up," whispered the gay, brave little voice in his ear.

The horses flew, the children moved as if they were puppets, and all might now have been well if at that moment Diana herself—Diana the fearless, the brave, the unconquerable—had not slipped, slipped at the very moment when she was springing through one of the rings. The horse galloped on without her, and she lay prone upon the floor of the circus. Uncle Ben rushed madly to the rescue, and before Orion's horse had reached the spot he had caught the child in his arms. She was stunned by the fall, and lay white as death in his embrace. The house thought the fall had killed her, and there was a horrified murmur; but Diana was only stunned. In a moment she raised her cheery little voice.

"I's awfu' sossy; I's all wight now," she said. "Where's Pole Star?"

"Nay, little gal," said Uncle Ben, knowing well the temper of the house, "you must do no more to-night. The company, I know, will excuse you."

Seating the child on his shoulder, and patting her hand affectionately, as if he were her father, he brought little Diana to the front.

"I hope, ladies and gentlemen," he called out, "that you will excuse this great lady huntress to-night. But if you wish her to take another turn round on the back of the great Pole Star, she is willing to comply."

"No!" shouted voice after voice in the gallery; "let little missy off. We'll come to see little missy another night. Three cheers for little missy!"

The next moment Diana and Orion found themselves at the back of the stage.

"Is it true, Di?" gasped Orion. "Is it all over?"

"Yes; it's all over," answered little Diana. She leaned against the wall. "I's a bit giddy," she said; "but I'll be all wight by and by."

Aunt Sarah, with tears in her eyes, brought the child a restorative.

"Drink this, little love," she said; "you'll soon be much better, I'm sure."

The curtain had fallen on the first half of the performance, and Uncle Ben came up in a huge good humor.

"Missy, I hope you aint hurt," he said.

"Hurt?" answered Diana. "What do a fall matter? I's as wight as wain. Didn't Orion do well, Uncle Ben?"

"Yes, all things considerin'," said Uncle Ben. "We has a full house, missy, and I'm very much obliged to you. Now you had best go straight to bed. Sarah, take the kids off and give them a good supper, for they has earned it."

Aunt Sarah took Diana's hand and led her to their bedroom.

"But aren't we going away now?" said Orion.

Aunt Sarah sat down at the foot of one of the beds with a white face.

"Come to me, little missy," she said to Diana.

The child went to her.

"I's k'ite well," she said, "only a little giddy. Why, Aunt Sawah, you's kying."

"I thought you were dead for a minute, my little miss; you that is the image of my Rachel, what the good God took from me. I thought you were dead, and it 'most broke my 'eart—oh, little missy, little darlin'!"

"But, Diana, aren't we going away?" Said Orion. "You promised, and you never broke your word."

"I pwomised, and I never break my word," said Diana. "Yes, Orion, yes; we is going away."

"I declare," said Aunt Sarah, "I believe it would be the right thing to do. It would kill me if you was killed, missy—and them 'orses!"

"They is darlin's," interrupted Diana.

"Well, go to sleep now, and I'll fetch some supper," said Aunt Sarah.

She shut the door behind the children, returning in a few minutes with bowls of bread and milk. Diana sat listlessly down on the nearest bench.

"I's awfu' s'eepy," she said.

She did not quite know what was the matter with her; it seemed as if something had suddenly knocked all her spirit away. She did not know herself without the brave spirit which God had put into her little breast. Orion gazed at her anxiously.

"You do look queer," he said; "your eyes are bigger than ever, and they stare so. What's the matter, Di?"

"Nothing," said Diana.

"Aren't you going to eat your supper?"

"I's wather sick," said Diana; "I don't want to eat. You had best eat all you can, Orion."

"Yes, I had best," answered Orion, "'cos I won't have strength to run away if I hasn't plenty of food."

He began to eat up his own basin of bread and milk, and, as it was not too large, he thought he might attack Diana's also; then he gave her an anxious glance. She was sitting strangely still, her hands lying idly in her lap, her eyes staring straight at the opposite wall.

"'Member we is going away, and that you promised," he said. "Isn't it time for us to be off?"

"Yes, Orion," she answered.

"Well, drink off this teeny drop of milk; it will strengthen you." He brought the bowl to Diana, who sipped of a few spoonfuls; but then she shook her head.

"I's sick," she said; "it aren't good to eat when you is sick."

"Well, do come now," said Orion. "If you don't go at once they will find us; and you promised, and you never broke your word yet."

"I underland," said Diana; "I would not bweak my word; that would be mean."

"Well, let us go now."

Diana slipped off the little bench on which she had seated herself. She was still in her circus dress; her little bow was hung at her side, her arrow slung round her neck. Orion was also in his pretty dress, with his tiny sword and belt, his blue jacket and little white knickers.

"Let's put on our shoes," he said; "we can't go far in bare feet."

"We can't go far in bare foots," echoed Diana, in a dreary sort of voice. "I's s'eepy. Shall we wun away in the morning, Orion?"

"No; to-night! to-night!" he said, in terror. "You'll break your promise if we don't go to-night."

"All wight," she answered.

He brought her shoes, slipped them on her feet, buttoned them, and put on his own; then he took her hand in his. They opened the door of their bedroom and ran down a long passage, at the end of which was another door; it was on the latch. Orion opened it, and the little children found themselves at the back of the stage. There were no people about to see them, even Aunt Sarah was far away in one of the wings.

"There! we is safe," said Orion. "We has runned away, and we are safe."

"We has wunned away and we is safe," echoed Diana, in that dreary little voice. "But, Orion, I's drefful s'eepy."

"Never mind," said Orion; "we'll sleep in the fields."

"We'll s'eep in the fields," echoed Diana, in a vague manner.

Orion took her hand; they ran as fast as they could down a shady lane, for the great circus tent had been put outside the town.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE MILKMAN.

It was a lovely summer's night, and as the children ran, Orion looked up at the stars.

"Why, it's a starful night!" he cried, in a joyful voice, "and there's me. Do look at me, Di! There I am up in the sky, ever so big and 'portant."

"So you is," said Diana, laughing and then checking herself. "Is it far to——"

"To where, Di?"

"To the garding," said Diana; "to the dead-house where Rub-a-Dub is. Let's go and sit on the little bench and see the dead 'uns—let's count 'em; I wonder how many there is!" She stopped suddenly and gazed around her.

"What do you mean?" said Orion, in some alarm. "We are nowhere near the garden. Don't you know where we are, Diana?"

"Yes, I do now, course," she answered, with a laugh. "I think I was dweaming; it's my head; it's keer. I want to s'eep awfu'."

"Well, here are the fields," said Orion; "here's a beautiful green field, and the moon is shining on it. Oh, and there's a hole in the hedge; let's creep in."

"Let's k'eep in," said Diana.

They pushed their way through the hole and found themselves in a clover field. The clover, slightly wet with dew, felt very refreshing to their hot little feet.

"Isn't this 'licious?" said Diana. "Let's lie down on the g'een g'ass; let's s'eep here; I's awfu' s'eepy."

"It's very near the circus," said Orion. "I'm rather frightened for fear Uncle Ben will find us."

"No, he won't; it's all wight," said Diana.

She allowed her little brother to lead her as far as the hedge, and then nothing would persuade her to go any further. Down on the damp grass she flung herself, and then next moment was fast asleep.

Orion, aged six, did not think it wrong for Diana to sleep on the wet grass. The moon shone all over her bare little legs. She folded her arms when she lay down, and now there was not a stir, nor a movement from her.

Far away, or at least it seemed far away to little Orion, he could see the blinking lights of the town, and when he stood on tiptoe he could also see the lights of the merry-go-rounds and the other accompaniments of the great circus. He knew that he was dreadfully near his tyrants, and he longed beyond words to awaken Diana and make her go farther away; but she was asleep—dead tired. He never could master her. There was nothing, therefore, but for him to lie down also, close to her.

Accordingly, he flung himself on the grass, laid his head on her shoulder, nestling up close to her for warmth and protection, and in a few moments he had also forgotten his fears, and was calmly living in the blessed land of dreams. The great Orion overhead looked down on his tiny namesake, and the little boy dreamt that he was a giant in very truth, and that he and Diana were fighting their way through the world.

The children slept, and presently the creatures of the night came out—the owls, and the bats, and the night moths—and looked with wonder at the queer little pair lying prone amongst the green clover. Thousands of wonderful night noises also began to awaken in all directions—the merry chirp of the cricket, the whir of the bat on its circling flight, the hum of the moths—but the children heard nothing, although the creatures of the night were curious about these strange little beings who, by good rights, ought not to be sharing their kingdom.

At last, just when the first peep of dawn began to tinge the east, little Orion opened his eyes and rubbed them hard. With a great rush memory returned to him. He had run away; he had ridden Greased Lightning and had not fallen from his back; his terrible life in the circus was at an end. Uncle Ben was nowhere near to chide him. He and Diana had got off; but it was true that they had not put a great distance between themselves and Uncle Ben. Perhaps Uncle Ben, who had promised that he might go away if he did his part well, might change his mind in the morning. It was most important that he and his sister should go farther away as quickly as possible.

Accordingly, he proceeded to wake Diana. Diana was very sound asleep indeed. He could see her face distinctly, for the first faint return of day was spreading a tender glow over it. She did not look pale; there was a hot spot on either cheek—a spot of vivid rose.

"I am cold enough," thought the little fellow, "but Diana seems warm. Wake up, Di; wake up!" he said. "We has runned away, but we has not run far enough. Wake up, Di, and let's go on."

Diana did not stir at all at his first summons. He spoke loudly, looking around him as he did so in some terror. A night owl, preparing to go home, was seated on a tree near by. The owl looked at Orion and hooted in a very melancholy manner. His voice seemed to say:

"I never saw two greater little fools than you children in all my life."

Orion felt rather afraid of the owl. Having failed to awaken Diana by words, he proceeded to shake her. This device succeeded. She opened her great, big, sleepy eyes and stared around her in bewilderment.

"So you is our little mother now, Iris?" she said. "All wight; I's coming."

She sat up on her grassy bed and rubbed her eyes, then stared at Orion and burst out laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" said Orion. "We are in awful danger here. Uncle Ben may catch us any minute."

"Who's Uncle Ben?" asked Diana.

"Why, Di! how very queer you are. Don't you remember Uncle Ben, the awful man who has the circus?"

"No, I don't," said Diana. "Is it true that Rub-a-Dub's dead?"

"Oh, Di! Rub-a-Dub died weeks ago. What does it matter about a mouse? I'm frightened about Uncle Ben. If he catches us he'll change his mind, perhaps, and I cannot ride Greased Lightning again. Don't speak so queer, Di. Do rouse yourself. We must get out of this as fast as we can."

"As fast as we can," echoed Diana. "All wight, Orion; I's k'ite sati'fied."

"Well, come, then," said Orion; "get up."

"I don't think I care to."

"But we can't run away if you are lying there."

"No more we can," said Diana. She laughed again. "Isn't it fun?" she said. "And so Rub-a-Dub isn't dead after all?"

"Yes; of course he is."

"Orion, look!" said the child; "look!"

"Look at what?" answered the little fellow. "Oh, Diana! don't say it's Uncle Ben!"

"I don't know nothing 'bout no Uncle Ben; but didn't you see something flash there?—something white, just over there? I know who it was; it was mother. Mother has gone to the angels, but she has come back. Mother! mother! come here! Call her, Orion; call her, call her!"

"Mother! mother!" said the little boy; "mother, come here!"

But there was no answer to this cry, which, on the part of Orion at least, was full of agony. No answer either from the heaven above or the earth beneath.

"It was a mistake, I s'pect," said Diana. "Mother is in heaven; she's a beautiful angel, singing loud. Well, let's come 'long." She staggered to her feet, and, supported by Orion, began to walk across the field. "Let's go into the garding," she said.

Poor little Orion was quite in despair.

"We are miles from the garden," he said. "I think you have gone silly."

"S'pect I has," said Diana. "What fun!"

"And you have got such a queer look on your face."

"A k'eer look on my face?" repeated Diana.

"Yes; and your eyes, they are ever so big; they frighten me."

"My eyes k'ite fwighten you, poor little boy," said Diana. "Well, let's wun; let's get to the garding. Why, it's the day mother went away to the angels, and we has got no lessons. Where's Iris? I want Iris."

"So do I," said Orion. "Oh, Di! what is to become of us? You frighten me."

"K'ite fwighten poor little boy," echoed Diana. "I's sossy, but I can't help it. I's giddy in my head. Does this way lead to garding, Orion?"

"No. What are we to do?" said Orion. "Oh, I am so frightened!" He really was. Diana's strange behavior was more than he could understand. "Oh, I'm so bitter hungry!" he cried. He flung himself on the grass.

Diana stood and looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

"Why, you is a poor little boy," she said. "Now, if you'll take my hand we'll go indoors, and Fortune will give us a lovely bekfus. Come, Orion; don't be fwightened, poor little boy."

They walked across the field. By this time the sun was up and the place felt warm and dry. Little Orion, shivering in his queer circus dress, was glad of this, and a faint degree of returning courage came into his heart.

Diana did not seem to feel anything at all. She walked along, singing as she walked.

"We's going to the dead-house," she said. "Rub-a-Dub's dead."

"You'll never know fear any more, Little dear; Good-by, Rub-a-Dub."

"Oh, don't Di! You make me feel so frightened," said Orion. "Why do you talk like that? Can't you 'member nothing?"

"Course I 'member," said Diana. "Rub-a-Dub's dead."

"Never know fear, Little dear; Rub-a-Dub's dead."

"Come this way," said Orion, taking her hand.

She was quite willing to follow him, although she did not in the least know where she was going.

"S'pect I aren't well," she said at last. "Don't be fwightened, poor little boy. S'pect I aren't k'ite well."

"I's so hungry," moaned Orion.

"Well, let's go into the house; let's have bekfus. Where's Fortune? Come 'long, Orion; come 'long."

They had reached the highroad now, and were walking on, Orion's arm flung round Diana's waist. Suddenly, rattling round a corner of the country road, came a man with a milk cart. He was a very cheery-looking man with a fat face. He had bright blue eyes and a kindly mouth.

"Hullo!" he said, when he saw the two little children coming to meet him. "Well, I never! And what may you two be doing out at this hour?"

Diana gazed up at him.

"I's going to the garding," she said. "I's to meet Iris in garding. We is to 'cide whether it's to be a pwivate or a public funeral."

"Bless us and save us!" said the man.

"Don't mind her," said Orion; "she's not well. She fell off a horse last night, and there's something gone wrong inside her head. I s'pect something's cracked there. She's talking a lot of nonsense. We has runned away, and we is desperate hungry. Can you give us a drink of milk?"

"Well, to be sure," said the man, smacking his lips as he spoke. "I never saw anything like this afore, and never heard anything like it, neither. Why, it's like a page out of a printed book. And so you has run away, and you belong to the circus, I guess. Why, you are in your circus dresses."

"See my bow and arrow," said Diana. "I is the gweat Diana; I is the gweatest huntwess in all the world."

"To be sure; to be sure!" said the man.

"And I am Orion," said the boy, seeing that Diana's words were having a good effect. "You can watch me up in the sky on starful nights. I am a great giant, and this is my girdle, and this is my sword."

"I never heard anything so like a fairy tale afore," said the man. "Are you sure you are human, you two little mites?"

Diana took no notice of this.

"I want to get into the garding," she said. "I want to lie down in the garding; I want Iris; I want mother. Man, do you know that my mother has gone away to the angels? She is playing a gold harp and singing ever so loud; and once we had a little mouse, and it was called Rub-a-Dub, and it's deaded. We gived it a public funeral."

"Oh, do let us have some milk, and don't mind her!" said Orion.

The man jumped down off the cart, and, turning a tap in the great big can, poured out a glass of foaming milk. He gave it to Orion, who drank it all off at the first draught. He then filled out a second measure, which he gave to Diana. She took it, raised it to her lips, took one or two sips, and then gave it to Orion.

"There's something sick inside of me," she said. "I don't know what's the matter; I isn't well."

"She had a bad fall last night at the circus," said Orion. "She fell from one of the rings. I s'pect something's cracked inside her head."

"I s'pect something's c'acked inside my head," echoed Diana, looking up piteously. "I want to go to the garding; I want to lie down."

"Well, look here," said the man; "this is more than I can understand. You had best, both of you, go back to the circus, and let the people who has the charge of you see what's the matter."

"No!" screamed Orion; "never! never!"

He suddenly put wings to his little feet, and began to fly down the road, away from the milkman.

Diana stood quite still.

"Aren't he silly little boy?" she said. "But he mustn't go back to circus, milkman; it would kill him. I isn't able to wide to-day, 'cos I's c'acked inside my head; and he mustn't wide without me, 'cos it would kill him. Couldn't we go to your house, milkman, and rest there for a bit?"

"Well, to be sure; I never thought of that," said the man. "So you shall, and welcome. Jump up beside me on the cart, missy."

"I can't, 'cos my head's c'acked," said Diana.

"Then I'll lift you up. Here, you sit there and lean against the big milk can. Now, we'll set Peggy going, and she will soon overtake little master."

Diana laughed gleefully.

"Do you know, you's an awfu' nice man?" she said.

"I am glad you think so, missy."

The man took the reins and Peggy started forward. They soon overtook little Orion, who was lifted also into the milk cart. Then the milkman turned swiftly round and carried the children back to a small house on the outskirts of the town. When he got there he called out in a lusty voice: