The Annam Jewel by Patricia Wentworth Page A

the first scattered houses, coming at last by devious ways to the fence which guarded the railway embankment. They climbed over this, and proceeded along the bank until they came to the shunting-yard. Peter seemed to know his way. He dropped down upon the track, passing several vans, and finally came to a standstill beside a truck which was covered with a tarpaulin.
    Earlier in the afternoon he had hung about the yard and asked a number of intelligent questions. The truck contained sacks of grain, and it would be attached to the goods train which left Parberry at ten-fifteen.
    He loosened the tarpaulin and lifted Rose Ellen up. The sacks were standing in rows, and between the rows were valley-like depressions, not deep, but deep enough for Rose Ellen to lie full length in one, and Peter in another. The tarpaulin covered them. Peter stood his bag on end on the top of one of the sacks; this lifted the tarpaulin and let in some air. They lay in the dark, and ate German sausage and bananas.
    Later on Rose Ellen’s hand came feeling softly between the sacks until it touched Peter’s shoulder.
    â€œPeter de—ah,” said a very small voice.
    â€œS-s-h, you mustn’t talk!” said Peter.
    â€œI won’t, if you hold my hand just for a little, Peter de—ah.”
    â€œAll right,” said Peter, in a gruff whisper.
    He held the hand that first clung to his and presently relaxed; it was a very little hand. By and by they were both asleep.
    It was many hours before Peter woke. He was one of those people who come broad awake at once. One minute he was sailing the Caribbean Sea in a pirate ship, and the next instant there he was, very stiff, lying between sacks of grain with a tarpaulin over his head, and realizing that what had waked him was a sharp jerk which meant that their truck was being shunted. The shunting went on for some time, and then ceased.
    After listening for a while Peter very cautiously raised the tarpaulin at the end of the truck and looked out. It was light, but not very light. The sun had not risen. Everything looked odd and grey. There were trucks, and railway lines, and a fence. Peter slipped to the ground, extracted his bag and the fish-basket, and woke Rose Ellen.
    It was getting lighter every minute. This was quite a strange place, flat and green, not a bit like Parberry. The name of the station was Hastney Mere. They left it behind them and took the road. The sun was rising as they crossed a little bridge and came to a path that led through water-meadows golden with kingcups. The sky looked very new and clean. They sat by the side of the path and ate bread and cheese and oranges. Then they walked on again.
    â€œWhere are we going?” said Rose Ellen.
    Peter frowned at the sunrise. He had really no idea, but he wasn’t going to tell Rose Ellen that. He said:
    â€œYou’ll see,” and then added grandly, “I’m going to find a home for you.”
    Rose Ellen repeated the information to Augustabel in a whisper. Presently she said:
    â€œPeter de—ah.”
    Peter turned on her.
    â€œRose Ellen, you’re saying Petah. You’ve been saying it every time.”
    â€œI haven’t, Petah.”
    â€œYou have. You’re doing it now.”
    She nuzzled her head against him.
    â€œI like doing it, Petah.”
    â€œYou’re a little mug, Rose Ellen. What is it?”
    â€œI wanted to know—”
    â€œWhat did you want to know?”
    Rose Ellen stood quite still, and fixed serious brown eyes upon Peter’s face. There was already a little more colour in her cheeks.
    â€œI wanted to know what is my name.”
    â€œRose Ellen Waring,” said Peter stoutly. “What else should it be?”
    Rose Ellen put a finger in her mouth. Her eyes were wet and round.
    â€œThey said it wasn’t—they said it was Ellen Smiff—they said it wasn’t never Waring at all—they said I wasn’t your sister,