“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.

[Illustration:  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.