Being abruptly left to himself by Moll in the darkness—for the moon was now hidden behind a bank of dense black cloud—Joe prowled and stamped and beat furiously among the furze bushes, while now and again a snarl of baffled rage broke from him which boded ill for the future of the fugitives—if he could only lay his hands upon them!
In a short time, however, he concluded apparently that further search in that quarter, and with no light to guide him save "the cold light of stars," would prove fruitless, for his retreating footsteps seemed to follow Moll's. Then Darby and the dwarf felt free to breathe again, and held each other's hands in mute thanksgiving for their deliverance.
But hark! what was that? Steps once more—Joe, probably, come back with the newly-lighted lantern to take a final look around. This time he would search the kiln himself. Then—And the dwarf noiselessly changed his position so that the dark bundle which was Joan lay behind him, and wrapped his long arms tightly round the boy, determined to shield them to the last against all danger.
The steps came nearer and nearer, slow and deliberate; then they stopped as if in indecision, then came on again—not down the incline this time, but advancing from the front. Faster and louder thumped the hearts of Darby and the dwarf as they watched and waited; nearer and nearer drew the black, shapeless something, until it halted right opposite the mouth of the kiln, only a few yards away.
It must be Joe Harris, Bambo was sure. He had paused to strike a light, and in another minute they should be discovered. Darby clung to his protector with all his strength. His teeth chattered in terror, but the brave little lad did not utter a sound.
The footsteps again, and Bambo closed his eyes an instant while his soul rose to heaven in one of those earnest petitions which ofttimes are prayed without a word. Then he looked towards the entrance to the kiln, fully prepared to see the wicked face of Thieving Joe leering in upon them—to hear his shout of satisfaction at beholding his prey so securely caught in a trap from which there was no escape.
But instead of their enemy, what do you think stood there? Just an innocent-looking red and white calf—probably one of the family, now at grass, which had formerly occupied the snug house in the farmyard. It was, doubtless, in the habit of coming to the old kiln occasionally for a change, or for shelter in wet weather. And now it stood and surveyed the intruders with solemn, serious eyes, as much as to say, "What are you funny little folks doing in my place, pray?"
The sense of relief was so great, the situation seemed so ludicrous, that Darby broke into a peal of shrill, nervous laughter, which he as suddenly suppressed; while the dwarf again lifted his heart to Heaven in grateful acknowledgment of deliverance from danger.
Darby fondled the calf's cold nose and stroked his rough, wet coat; and Master Calf, seeing that his self-invited guests were not so odd or fearsome as they looked, marched slowly inside, deliberately lay down in what apparently was his own particular corner, and calmly commenced chewing his cud. Then, with his hand in Bambo's and his head resting against the animal's warm, shaggy side, Darby soon fell asleep; and the dwarf dozed at intervals until the first streaks of dawn broke up the blackness of the eastern sky.