there all his life with his cousins and their father, and that, after all, the magic of a dream-life was not needed, when life itself was so good and happy.
And just as he was thinking this a twig cracked sharply in the hedge. Then a dozen twigs rustled and broke, and something like a great black bird seemed to fly out at him and fold him in its wings.
It was not a bird—he knew that the next moment—but a big, dark cloak, that some one had thrown over his head and shoulders, and through it strong hands were holding him.
"Hold yer noise!" said a voice; "if you so much as squeak it'll be the worse for you."
"Help!" shouted Dickie instantly.
He was thrown on to the ground. Hands fumbled, his face was cleared of the cloak, and a handkerchief with a round pebble in it was stuffed into his mouth so that he could not speak. Then he was dragged behind a hedge and held there, while two voices whispered above him. The cloak was over his head again now, and he could see nothing, but he could hear. He heard one of the voices say, "Hush! they're coming." And then he heard the sound of hoofs and wheels, and Lord Arden's jolly voice saying, "He must have walked on; we shall catch him up all right." Then the sound of wheels and hoofs died away, and hard hands pulled him to his feet and thrust the crutch under his arm.
"Step out!" said one of the voices, "and step
