The second day's journey was as delightful as the first. The weather continued fine, and Seth Dumbrick, recovering his spirits, did his best to entertain the children, to whom the ride itself would have been a sufficiently satisfying enjoyment. During the day Seth confided his plans to the good-natured wagoner, and his desire to obtain cheap lodgings for a few days for himself and the children at some modest cottage in the country.

"Would near the seaside suit you?" asked the wagoner.

"Capitally," replied Seth; "but your place lies inland."

"I have time to go a little out of my way, and will take you to a cottage near the sea belonging to a friend of mine, who'll be able to lodge you reasonable."

"Nothing could be better," said Seth, thankfully.

"It's obliging her and you, and won't trouble me much. Come up, Daisy! Now then, Cornflower! Four mile more for you, and plenty of time to do it in."

If Daisy and Cornflower understood that an additional task was imposed upon them they did not take it sadly, but shook their bells briskly and trotted out of their regular track with a willing spirit.

"Round this bend," said the wagoner, "and a fine stretch of the sea'll be before us."

It appeared almost incredible, for the trees and hedges in the path they were riding along were so thick and the path itself so winding as to obscure the view.

"The children have never seen the sea," said Seth.

"You don't say so! Well, I wouldn't be a Londoner, bound to live there all my days, for the best fifty houses you could offer me. And never seen a ship sailing, I'll be bound!"

"Never."

"It will be something for them to remember, then. Now, shut your eyes, my little lasses, and don't open them till I say 'Presto!'"

Sally and the Duchess shut their eyes tight, their hearts throbbing with eager expectation.

"Up then, Daisy! Up, Cornflower! Round the bend we go. Presto!"

The Duchess and Sally opened their eyes and uttered exclamations of delight. The glorious sea lay before them, with large ships in the distance and fishing boats in the foreground. In one part the sun, playing on the water, transformed it into an island of flashing jewels. It was a veritable wonderland to the children--a dream of beauty never to be forgotten.

"Do I see the waves creeping up, Sally?" asked Seth, gaily.

Sally raised her face to his and kissed him.

"It's all through that money that was sent to the Duchess, Daddy."

"All through that, Sally."

"Then I love money, Daddy," said Sally; "and I'd like to be a lady, so that the Duchess and me might live always by the sea. How far does it stretch? More than we can see?"

"Thousands, and thousands, and thousands of miles more. Away into other countries, where it's night at the present moment while it's daylight here."

"I don't understand it," said Sally, with a sigh of ecstasy, "and I don't want to. Oh, we're going away from it!"

"We're going to the cottage I spoke of my little woman," said the wagoner; "it's not three hundred yards off--just down this lane."

Down the lane they drove, and drew up at a small house with a garden before and behind. The front of the cottage was covered with ivy, and the windows in their framework of glossy leaves looked wonderfully pretty.

"This is nice, too," said Sally, disposed to enjoy everything.

"There's beauty everywhere, Sally," said Seth, with a touch of his old philosophy, "if we'll only look out for it."

"This comes without looking out for it," replied Sally; "and that's why I like it. Ain't it better than anything ever was, Duchess?"

The Duchess nodded an assent, and in another moment the whole party were in the little parlour, and Seth and the wagoner were talking to the mistress of the house. The bargain was soon struck, the terms asked for board and lodging being much less than Seth had ventured to hope they would be. They were to have the two rooms on the first floor for sleeping apartments, one looking over the front the other over the back of the house.

"Daddy must have this," said Sally, as they stood in the front room; "it's the best."

"That's the reason why you and the Duchess shall sleep in it. I came into the country for your sakes, children, not for my own."

Everything in the place was sweet and fresh; and the garden at the back of the house contained apple and pear trees and currant-bushes, as well as flowers.

"My good man," said the mistress, "will be glad to have two such pretty children in the house for a little while. We've none of our own. It'll brighten us up a bit."

The woman was sad-looking and spoke in a sad tone; and Sally wondered how it was possible that one who lived in the fairy-house, with flowers and fruit trees and the sea within a stone's throw of them, should need brightening up. She was sure if such a paradise were hers, that there would never be a dull hour in it. While the woman was attending to the children upstairs, assisting them to wash after their long day's ride, and showing them all the wonders of the fairy house, Seth and the wagoner had a conversation in the room below. It was a friendly one, resulting from the wagoner's refusal to accept payment for the ride.

"It'll be a pleasure to me," said the wagoner, "not to take the money. I don't want it, having enough and to spare, as I've already told you. I don't mean to say I do it for your sake----"

"Not likely," said Seth, good-humouredly.

"--But for the sake of the pretty little one you call the Duchess. And that's puzzled me. I'd take it as a favour if you'd tell me, why Duchess?"

"Well, it was a fancy of Sally's," said Seth, "who worships the Duchess----"

"It's plain enough that she thinks a mighty deal more of her than she does of herself."

"That she does. Well, the Duchess came to me in a strange way that'll take too long to explain here. The child was left in our neighbourhood in a most mysterious manner--brought in mysteriously, deserted mysteriously. She and Sally were thrown together, and Sally adopted her, if one helpless mite can be said to adopt another helpless mite. Sally's mother fell into misfortune, and the children happened to drop in my way. Sally had a name--the other one didn't--and one night we had a curious little party of children in my cellar----"

"In your cellar?"

"I live in a cellar in Rosemary Lane--and Sally, quite seriously, put the fancy in my head of calling the child the Duchess of our quarter. All the neighbours take to it kindly, and everyone that knows her loves her. Look there. Who could help being attracted to her?"

The wagoner looked up at the window of the children's room, and saw the Duchess standing within a framework of dark-green ivy leaves. The light was shining full upon her beautiful face, and touched, also, the darker face of Sally, who stood at the back of the Duchess, looking over her shoulder.

"It's a picture one don't often see," said the wagoner, with a thoughtful air; "but if I had my choice of the two girls for a daughter, I reckon I'd choose the dark-skinned one."

It did not displease Seth to hear this, for Sally and the Duchess really occupied an equal place in his heart. If the beauty of the Duchess awoke the tenderness of his nature, the devotion, unselfishness, and many rare qualities displayed by Sally were no less powerful in their effect upon his sympathies. Bearing in mind the scene that had occurred at Springfield on the preceding evening, he asked the wagoner, if any inquiries were made of him, not to divulge where he and the children were rusticating.

"I've brought them into the country," he said, "as much for peace and quietness as for fresh air."

There was to the wagoner's mind something suspicious both in the words and the nervous manner in which Seth made the request. He showed in his countenance the impression he received, and Seth, wishing to stand well with him, gave an account of the incident which had so disturbed him.

"When I heard the lady say she would like to buy my child," he said, in conclusion, "it seemed to me that she had so much faith in the power of money, and so little in the power of love, that I could not keep my temper. I spoke hotly, and with reason, I think."

"It would have roused my blood," responded the wagoner; "you never saw any of the gentlefolk before?"

"Never, and I never wish to see them again. I said as much to the master of Springfield, if I'm not mistaken."

"From what I've heard of him, he's not a man either to forget or forgive."

"You'll promise me, then, for the sake of the children, not to set any one on our track?"

He spoke anxiously, his fears exaggerating a danger which, in all likelihood was wholly imaginary.

"Yes," replied the wagoner, "there's no harm in promising. They've no right to worry you, as far as I can see, and they sha'n't get me to put them in the way of it. How long are you going to stop here?"

"We can live here so cheaply," said Seth, with a lightened heart, "that my purse will hold out for two or three weeks; we'll stay that time, I dare say."

"I'll be going up to London about then, mayhap," said the wagoner; "if so, I'll be glad to give the little lasses a lift; and mayhap I may be passing this way in a few days with the wagon. A ride through the lanes will do them no harm."

Seth expressed his thanks to the kind-hearted old fellow, and they shook hands and parted, the wagoner smiling goodbye to the children, who stood at the window watching him until he was out of sight.

Then commenced a happy time. The children were in a new world, and the little cottage, with its bit of garden back and front, was a very heaven to them. Everything was so new and bright, the air was so sweet............