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‘She’s to go, Peter,’ said Flossy. ‘I guessed it–I guessed it quite well last night. She’s to go away to the workhouse–that’s what mother said; I heard her telling Mr Martin so.’

‘She’s not!’ said Peter. He turned very pale, and, still holding the child in his arms, sat down on the nearest chair.

It is to be doubted whether this poor neglected baby had ever been christened. The children had given her a name of their own; they had called her Dickory Dock. The reason they had given her this distinctive title was because the first amusement which had brought a smile to her little face had been the old play of Dickory Dock and the mouse that ran up the clock.

‘She said it,’ repeated Flossy, coming up close to her brother, and fixing her anxious eyes on the baby. ‘She said that our Dickory was to go to the workhouse.’

‘Well then, she shan’t!’ said Peter. ‘I know nothing about workhouses, but I expect they are very nasty places, and Dickory shan’t go there!’

Then he sat silent, his arm round the little child, who looked up at him and then back at Flossy, and then smiled in that wonderfully pathetic way she had.

‘Look here, Flossy,’ said Peter, ‘if you are quite certain sure that mother said the workhouse, that she didn’t say nothing about Dickory Dock being put to sleep in another room, or maybe down in the kitchen–if you are quite positive about the workhouse, Flossy, why, I know what I’ll do.’

‘She did say the workhouse,’ answered Flossy; ‘I heard her with my own ears, and Mr Martin said it was a stream measure. I don’t know what he meant by that, but I do know that mother said the workhouse, and that she has got till to-morrow morning to take baby away.’

‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Peter; ‘we’ll take her away first, you and me, Flossy–you and me and Snip-snap–we’ll take our little baby away, and we’ll hide her. Dickory shall never go to no workhouse!’

Here Dickory looked up again at Peter, who looked down at her and kissed her, and two tears splashed from his eyes on her little face.

‘Oh, what a dear baby she is!’ said Flossy. ‘Yes, Peter, we’ll run away, and we’ll take Dickory. Where shall we take her to, Peter?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Peter. ‘We’ll get her out of this, that’s the first thing. How much money have you got, Flossy?’

‘A crooked halfpenny,’ said Flossy, in a decided voice.

Peter sighed. He was older than Flossy, and he knew that a crooked halfpenny did not represent a large capital.

‘I have got sixpence,’ he said; ‘that’ll buy milk for her. We’ll manage quite well, Floss. When mother goes out with her market-basket, we’ll slip downstairs with Dickory, and well take her away, and we’ll hide her somewhere. She shan’t go to no workhouse, the darling pet!’

‘No, that she shan’t, the dear!’ said Flossy. ‘It’s a lovely plan, Peter, and I’ll just go and watch on the top of the stairs for mother to go out with the old market-basket.’

‘We’d better take a bag with us,’ said Peter. ‘The bag will come in very handy; it will hold baby’s milk when we buy it, and some bread for you and me; for we may have to walk a long way before we find a nice hiding-place for Dickory.’

Children seldom take long in carrying out their resolutions, and Mrs Franklin, puzzled and anxious, and with no real intention of sending the poor baby to the workhouse, had not long turned the corner of the street before the hall door of the rambling old house was eagerly and nervously opened, and a funny little quartette issued forth. Dickory did not often get the air, and she enjoyed herself very much, sitting well up in Peter’s arms, and wrapped up, head and all, in an old tartan shawl. Flossy, holding the bag, walked by her brother’s side, and Snip-snap behaved in his usual erratic fashion, now running before, now lingering behind, now stopping to exchange a greeting with a fellow-dog, or to sniff with watering jaws and wistful eyes at a butcher’s shop, but always returning faithfully to his charge, and always raising an inquiring face to see if Dickory was quite comfortable. She was thoroughly so, and when she crowed, and laughed, and chuckled, Flossy wondered they had never thought of taking her out before. The sun was shining and the day was bright and warm, with the promise of spring in it, and the two children were highly delighted with their scheme, and not a bit afraid of the result. The only thing which had at all alarmed them was the fear that Mrs Franklin or Martha might find out their little plan before they had time to carry it into effect.