and Helena Beatrice, and another"--

The coachman hit the footman in the chin--the footman hit the coachman
in the waist-coat--the next minute the two were fighting here and there,
in and out, up and down, and all over everywhere, and the little dog
jumped on the box of the carriage and began barking like mad.

[Illustration: The next minute the two were fighting]

Cyril, still crouching in the dust, waddled on bent legs to the side of
the carriage farthest from the battlefield. He unfastened the door of
the carriage--the two men were far too much occupied with their quarrel
to notice anything--took the Lamb in his arms, and, still stooping,
carried the sleeping baby a dozen yards along the road to where a stile
led into a wood. The others followed, and there among the hazels and
young oaks and sweet chestnuts, covered by high strong-scented
brake-fern, they all lay hidden till the angry voices of the men were
hushed at the angry voice of the red-and-white lady, and, after a long
and anxious search, the carriage at last drove away.

"My only hat!" said Cyril, drawing a deep breath as the sound of wheels
at last died away. "Everyone _does_ want him now--and no mistake! That
Sammyadd has done us again! Tricky brute! For any sake, let's get the
kid safe home."

So they peeped out, and finding on the right hand only lonely white
road, and nothing but lonely white road on the left, they took courage,
and the road, Anthea carrying the sleeping Lamb.

Adventures dogged their footsteps. A boy with a bundle of faggots on his