If anyone arsks questions, you han't seen us, mind." "Fur nor feather of ye," he repeated.

He watched the pair as they dived through the elder bushes; saw them, still hand in hand, take the path on the left side of the garden, where its party hedge could best screen them from the back windows of the Orphanage; and poled back meditatively.
"Got an 'ead on her shoulders, that child!" On their way up the garden Tilda kept silence.

She was busy, in fact, with Sam Bossom's complicated itinerary, repeating it over and over to fix it in her mind.
She was fearful, too, lest some inquisitive neighbour, catching sight of them, might stop them and challenge to know their business.

The streets once gained, she felt easier--easier indeed with every yard she put between her and that house of horrors.

But the streets, too, held their dangers.