The thought of Tim, however, weighed on their minds, and when Barbara had arrived at some sort of idea as to who he was, and what he had done, she too felt even more anxious about him.  Even without prejudice it must be allowed that the police of those days were not what they are now, and Barbara knew that for a poor waif like Tim it would not be easy to obtain a fair hearing.

“And he won’t be wanting to get that gipsy girl into trouble by telling on the lot of them, which will make it harder for the poor lad,” thought the shrewd old woman, for the children had told her all about Diana.  “But there’s nothing to be done that I can see except to get the General to write to the police at Monkhaven.”  For Mrs. Twiss knew that Duke and Pam would be terribly against the idea of going back to the town and to the police office.  And she herself had no wish to do so—­she was not without some distrust of the officers of the law herself, and it would, too, have grieved her sadly not to have been the one to restore the lost children to their friends.  Besides, Farmer Carson would be waiting for her at the cross roads, for “if by any chance I don’t come back before, you may be sure I’ll be there on Friday, next market-day,” she had said to him at parting.

“You don’t think they’ll put Tim in prison, do you?” asked Duke, seeing that the old woman’s face grew grave when she had heard all.

“Oh no, surely, not so bad as that,” she replied.  “And even if we went back I don’t know that it would do much good.”

“Go back to where the policemans are,” exclaimed the twins, growing pale at the very idea.  “Oh please—­please don’t,” and they both crept closer to their old friend.

“But if it would make them let Tim come wif us?” added Pamela, shivering, nevertheless.  “I’d try not to be frightened.  Poor Tim—­he has been so good to us, us can’t go and leave him all alone.”

“But, my deary,” said Barbara, “I don’t rightly see what we can do for him.  The police might think it right to keep us all there too—­and I’m that eager to get you home to ease your dear Grandmamma and the General.  I think it’s best to go on and get your Grandpapa to write about the poor boy.”

But now the idea of rescuing Tim was in the children’s heads it was not so easy to get rid of it.  They stood still looking at each other and at Mrs. Twiss with tears in their eyes; they had come by this time perhaps half a mile from where they had met their friends.  The high-road was here shadier and less dusty, and it was anything but inviting to think of retracing the long stretch to Monkhaven, though from where they stood, a turn in the road hid it from them.  All at once a whistle caught their ears—­a whistle two or three times repeated in a particular way—­Toby pricked up his ears, put himself in a very valiant attitude, and barked with a great show of importance, as much as to say, “Just you look out now, whoever you are. I am on