he used to
come home at night so tired out that she could scarcely speak to the
child, much less teach him as she would have liked to do. Still on
Sundays she always, till her last illness, managed to take him to
church, and in her simple way tried to explain to him something of what
he then heard. But he was only eight years old when she died, and,
though he had not forgotten _her_, the memory of her words had grown
confused and misty. For, in the four years since then, he had had no
companions but tramps and gipsies--till the day when Duke and Pamela
were decoyed away by Mick, he had never exchanged more than a passing
word or two with any one of a better class. And somehow the sight of
their sweet innocent faces, the sound of their gentle little voices had
at once gained his heart. Never had he thought so much of his mother, of
his tiny brother and sister, who, he fancied, would have been about the
size of the little strangers, as since he had been with them. And when
he saw them looking shocked and frightened at the rough words and tones
of the gipsies,--when Pamela burst out sobbing to see how dirty her face
and hands were, and Duke grew scarlet with fury at the boys for throwing
stones at the poor dogs,--most of all, perhaps, when the two little
creatures knelt together in a corner of the van to say their prayers
night and morning--prayers which now always ended in a sobbing entreaty
"to be taken home again to dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma,"--a strange
feeling rose in Tim's throat and seemed as if it would choke him. And he
lay awake night after night trying to recall what his mother had taught
him, wishing he knew what it meant to be "good," wondering if the
Grandpapa and Grandmamma of whom the children so constantly spoke would
perhaps take pity on him and put him in the way of a better sort of
life, if he could succeed in helping the little master and missy to
escape from the gipsies and get safe back to their own home.

For every day, now that he had seen more of the children, he understood
better how dreadful it would be for them if wicked Mick's intentions
were to succeed. But hitherto no opportunity of running away had
offered--the children were far too closely watched. And Tim dared not
take any one, not even Diana, into his confidence!

CHAPTER VI.

TOBY AND BARBARA.

"Missing or lost, last Sunday night."
THOMAS MOORE.

The chance for which Tim was hoping seemed s