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