Almost in despair Duke sat up and looked round for any possibility of help. It was nearer than he thought; and yet when a voice, apparently a very little way off, called out, as if in answer to his unspoken appeal--

"I'm a-coming. Don't ye be afeared," he started with new terror.

"A snake!--Oh, sister, can it be a snake?" he cried wildly, for there was nothing to be seen.

"Snakes don't talk, as ever I heard on," said the voice again, and this time it was accompanied by a merry laugh, which brought great comfort to poor Duke. And in another moment the mystery was explained.

From behind some stubble a few yards off rose the figure of the young boy whom the children had seen walking behind the gipsies--whistling while he cut at a branch he held in his hand--from their point of observation in Spy Tower. His face was tanned and freckled by the sun, but his fair hair and bright blue eyes showed that he was not by birth one of the dark-skinned tribe; and something in the bright smile, showing a row of teeth as white and even as Duke's own, and in the cheerful voice, at once gained the little boy's confidence.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FROM BEHIND SOME STUBBLE A FEW YARDS OFF ROSE THE FIGURE OF THE YOUNG BOY WHOM THE CHILDREN HAD SEEN WALKING BEHIND THE GIPSIES--WHISTLING WHILE HE CUT AT A BRANCH HE HELD IN HIS HAND.--p.

74.]

"I've been looking for ye," he said, speaking in a rather lower tone. "I knew he was a-going to bring ye round this way, so I hid in the bushes till I see'd him go by. And I crep' along on my hands and knees for fear he should look back. But he's out o' the way for a few minutes. It's only a bit of a step to where the others is, but he said something about the donkey, didn't he? It'll take him a bit to unload it. An' what's he been a-doing to ye?" he went on, glancing round till his eyes for the first time caught sight clearly of the little figure stretched on the ground. "He's never gone and dared to hit the little lady?" and the good-humoured face grew dark and almost fierce as he stooped down close to Pamela. She looked pitiable enough; her face had grown whiter and whiter, her eyes were still closed, and the blood from her foot had crept about her as she lay till it had soiled the frills of her little white skirts.

"No," said Duke; "no, it's her foot. The bits of the bowl cut it when she felled down. I tied it up with my hankercher, but it hasn't left off bleeding."

The boy did not speak, he was too busy examining the poor foot, which he handled so tenderly that Pamela did not shrink from his touch. At last he looked up.

"I say, master," he said, "we must have some water for this 'ere foot.

Just you sit down where I am and hold it so; it won't bleed so bad that way, and I'll get some water. There's some hard by," and he looked round. "If I had but something to fetch some in."

"There's my money-box," said Duke, with a sudden flash of recollection, "it would hold a little," and in his turn he looked round. But no money-box was to be seen. "Oh where can it be?" he cried. "I know I had it when sister felled."

"Was there summat in it?" asked the boy.

"Oh yes," replied Duke; "one of the little gold guineas, and one of my shillings, and one of sister's sixpennies, and all the pennies."

"Ah," said the boy, "then I'm afeared you've said good-bye to the lot o'

them. Catch Mick let fish like that out of his net. But," he added--for Duke seemed to be stunned by the loss--"sit ye down, and I'll fetch what water I can in my cap, or we'll have missy's foot very bad, and that 'ud be worser than losin' the money."

He was back in a moment with water enough to soak the diminutive handkerchief, with which he gently bathed away some of the blood, so that he could see the wound. It was a bad cut, but it was not now bleeding so much. The little surgeon pressed the sides gently together, which made Pamela give a little scream of pain.

"Don't cry, missy dear," he said. "It'll not hurt so much when I've tied it up. Ye've not another hankerwich? I'd like to lay this one over the cut--it's nice and wet--and tie it on with summat else."

"I fink there's one in my pocket," said Pamela, and when Duke had extracted it, and with its help the poor foot was tied up much more scientifically than before, she sat up and looked about her, less white and miserable by a good deal, thanks to their new friend.

"What a nice boy you are," she said condescendingly. "What's your name?

Is that---- ugly man" she was going to have said, but she hesitated, afraid of hurting the boy's feelings--"is the man your father?" and she dropped her voice.

"Bless yer, no," he replied with real fervency, "and that's one thing I'm thankful for. Mick my father; _no_, thank you, missy. My name's Tim, leastways so I'm called. Diana she says it's short for Timothy, but Tim's long enough."

"And who's Diana?" asked the children, beginning to forget their own troubles in curiosity.

"Her as he roared out at so--yonder--when you was up at the top o' the wall. She's a deal better than him and the missus is Diana. But listen, master and missy. He'll be back in a minute, and----"

"Oh let us run away before he comes! oh do help us to run away!" they exclaimed, all their terrors returning. "Us doesn't want the bowl now.

Oh Tim, can't us all run away, quick, before he comes?"

And the two little creatures seized hold of their new friend's ragged jacket as if they felt that in him was their only chance of safety.

CHAPTER V.

TIM.

"Whose imp art thou with dimpled cheek, And curly pate and merry eye?"

J. BAILLIE.

They were so excited, so eager to be off at once, that for a minute or two Tim could scarcely get them to listen to him. They had forgotten all about the snakes, or else their confidence in the boy as a protector was so great that they were sure he would defend them against every danger.

"Oh Tim, dear Tim, do let us go quick," they kept repeating.

"But master and missy," he explained at last when they would let him speak, "we can't. Don't you see Mick knows exactly where he left yer, and he'd be after us in a minute. There's nowhere near here where we could hide but what he'd find us. You'd only get me a beating, that 'ud be all about it. No, listen to me. P'raps Mick means to take yer home straight away, but if he doesn't we must wait a bit till I can find out what he's after. He's a deep one is Mick."

"Couldn't you run home quick to tell Grandpapa and Grandmamma where us is?" said Duke. "Grandpapa, and the coachman, and Dymock, and the gardener--they'd all come to fetch us."

"I dursn't," said Tim. "Not yet; Mick's a deep one. If he thought I'd run off to tell he'd----"

"What would he do?" they asked breathlessly.

"He'd hide away somehow. 'Twouldn't be so easy to find him. He'll be back in a moment too--I couldn't get off before he'd be after me. No; we must wait a bit till I see what he's after."

"Why haven't you runned away before?" asked Pamela. "If he's not your father, and if you don't like him."

"Nowhere to run to," said Tim simply. "It's not so bad for me. I'm used to it. It's not like you, master and missy. Diana and me, when you was up at the top o' the wall, we'd ha' done anything to stop you coming down."

"But, Tim," said Pamela, almost in a whisper "you don't mean that Mick's going to steal us away for always."

"No, no," said the boy, "he only wants to get some money for you. But we'll see in a bit. Just you stay there quiet till he comes, and don't you say you've seen me. I'll soon see you again; but he mustn't find me here."

They began to cry again when he left them, but he had not gone too soon; for in less than five minutes--by which time Tim had hidden himself some little way off--they heard the voice of the gipsy urging on the donkey over the rough ground. He seemed in a very bad temper, and Duke and Pamela shivered with fear.

"Oh I wish us had runned away," whispered Pamela, though, when she tried to lift herself up and found she could not put the wounded foot to the ground even so as to hobble, she felt that to escape would have been impossible. The gipsy scowled at them, but said nothing as he lifted first the boy and then the girl on to the donkey.

"There, now," he said, with a slight return to his falsely-smooth tones, "you'll be pleased at last, I should hope. To think of all the trouble we've had, the missus and me, a-unpacking of all the pots and crocks for you to ride on the donkey."

"And are you going to take us straight home, then?" said Pamela, whose spirits had begun to revive.

"What, without the bowl?" exclaimed Mick, in pretended surprise, "when there's such a lot all set out on the gra.s.s in a row for you to see."

He spoke so naturally that both the children were deceived for the moment. Perhaps after all he was not so bad--even Tim had said _perhaps_ he was going to take them home! They looked up at him doubtfully.

"If you don't mind, please," said Duke, "us'd rather go home. It doesn't matter about the bowl, for sister's foot's so sore and it's getting late. I'll give you all the money--oh please, where have you put my money-box?"

Greatly to his surprise, the gipsy pulled it out of some slouching inner pocket of his jacket and gave it to him.