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 slow of coming.  He was always on the look-out for it; and, indeed, had he not been so Duke would have kept him up to his promise, for whenever he saw Tim alone for a moment he was sure to whisper to him, “How soon do you think us can run away?” And it was now the seventh day since the children had been carried off!