CHAPTER I THE BEGINNING OF THE HOLIDAYS

 
"WE'RE not to go to the seaside? Oh, Mother, why not?"
 
"Because, dear, we can't afford it. I'm very, very sorry, but you must try to enjoy your holidays at home; and, please, Tom, don't let your father guess that you greatly mind—of course, it's only natural that you should be disappointed."
 
The scene was the comfortable though decidedly shabby sitting-room at No. 3 Ladysmith Terrace, a row of new houses on the outskirts of Chilaton, a large provincial town; and the speakers were Mrs. Burford, a pretty, rather delicate-looking woman of thirty, and her ten-year-old son, Tom, whose usually bright face was now wearing an expression of mingled amazement and dismay. It was a pleasant afternoon at the close of July, and on the previous day the school, which Tom attended as a day-scholar, had broken up for the long holiday. Always, hitherto, Mr. Burford, who was a clerk in a bank in Chilaton, had taken his holiday in August, and gone with his family to the seaside; but Mrs. Burford had just told Tom that that programme could not be carried out this year.
 
"You see," she continued, "we have had extra expenses to cope with— Nellie's illness, for instance, and—"
 
"Dr. Brewer said that a change of air would set Nellie up quicker than anything!" Tom broke in, eagerly; "you haven't forgotten that, Mother?"
 
Mrs. Burford shook her head, and her lips quivered. There was a minute's silence, then she said, quietly: "If it was possible, we should carry out Dr. Brewer's prescription, Tom, but it is not. We must live within our income, and we could not do that if we took a holiday under existing circumstances. I hope, next year, if your father should get a rise—"
 
Tom, who was standing by the open window, gazing into the small patch of flower garden which divided the house from the road, turned sharply and looked at his mother as her voice altered and stopped. Mrs. Burford was seated in a low chair, a stocking, which she had been darning, drawn over her left hand, but she had ceased working, for she could not see on account of the tears which had suddenly filled her eyes. The boy's heart swelled with sympathy for her as he saw the sad feelings she was trying to keep down. "Oh, Mother," he cried, "don't look like that! I daresay Nellie will get quite well without going away! You know she is much better than she was a month ago! Why, I heard you say, yesterday, that you really thought she was a little fatter! And she's quite lost her cough!"
 
"Hush!" whispered Mrs. Burford, blinking away her tears, and hastily restarting her work, "here she comes! Well, Nellie, my dear!"
 
The door had opened to admit a little girl, followed by a small, smooth-haired fox-terrier. She crossed the room to her mother's side, where she seated herself on a stool, leaning her curly golden head against the arm of her mother's chair; she was a very pretty child, nearly two years younger than Tom, but whereas six months before she had been full of merriment and high spirits, she was now, as her brother complained, "as quiet as a mouse and with no fun left in her." This change was the result of a serious illness she had had in the spring.
 
"Shall we take Tim for a walk, Nellie?" suggested Tom, as the terrier came up to him, and stood wagging his tail and looking at him with an eager expression, which he read aright, in his sharp brown eyes. "He's asking me to go," he added.
 
Tim was a very intelligent little animal, and his face, quaintly marked, one side quite white and the other black and tan, was wonderfully expressive; at the present moment it seemed to say: "Come out into the sunshine! Don't stop indoors wasting this beautiful summer afternoon!"
 
"I'm tired, Tom," Nellie replied, "I'd rather stay with Mother if you don't mind. Besides, if I don't go you'll be able to take Tim farther—I couldn't walk very far, you know."
 
This was true, so Tom said no more and left his sister at home. Five minutes later, with Tim trotting on ahead of him, he had turned his back on Ladysmith Terrace, and was strolling along a wider road than the one in which his home was situated, which led to the open country. By and by he came within sight of a pretty ivy-covered detached house, with a well-kept lawn before it, around which, on one side, was a wide carriage-drive, whilst the other side was edged with flower-beds, gay with summer and early autumn flowers. This was Halcyon Villa, the residence of Miss Perry, an elderly maiden lady who was said to be very rich.
 
Tom, walking along with his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets, his eyes fixed on the ground, and his mind full of far from happy thoughts, was paying no attention to Tim, and did not observe that, on reaching the big iron gate leading into the grounds of Halcyon Villa, he had met another dog—an Irish terrier; and, therefore, he looked up with a start at the sound of a voice— a startled voice which cried:
 
"Bounce! Bounce! Come here! Oh, please, whoever you are, take your dog away!"
 
The speaker was a dark-haired, dark-complexioned boy, apparently about Tom's age. He was standing within the gate, his face close to the bars, an expression of great anxiety upon his features. It was evident he feared that the dogs, who, with raised backs, were walking stiffly around each other, growling, meant to fight.
 
Tom gave him a glance of contempt, secretly thinking him a coward, and answered: "Easier said than done! Come out and fetch your dog in!"
 
The words were barely out of his mouth when the dogs closed with each other, and a moment later found them fighting in the middle of the road. Tim fought pluckily, but he was not evenly matched, his antagonist being bigger and stronger than himself, and in less than a minute the Irish terrier had got him under, and doubtless would have done him serious injury if a man had not come along and separated the animals; whereupon the Irish terrier, looking rather ashamed of himself, retreated to the side of his master, who had come out into the road and now hastened to fasten a leash to his collar.
 
"You should keep your dog under control!" cried Tom angrily and very unreasonably. "I never saw a more savage brute!"
 
"He doesn't fight unless he's interfered with," the other boy answered, his dark cheeks flushing. "But, as a rule, I have him on the lead. I was giving him a run in the garden, and he went out over the hedge. I heard your dog come up and growl at him. I hope your dog is not hurt?"
 
"Not much. He has a bite on one of his forelegs, I see, but that's nothing."
 
Tom was beginning to be ashamed of the temper he had shown. He could quite believe that Tim, who was always fierce to strange dogs, had been the first to show a hostile spirit.
 
"Oh, I am glad of that!" the dark boy said. "What sort of dog is he, and what is his name?"
 
Tom was bending over Tim, examining his injury. He looked up in surprise; then laughed rather scornfully.
 
"Why, he's a fox-terrier, of course!" he exclaimed; "and nearly thoroughbred, too. His name's Tim. What do you call your dog? Oh, I remember!—Bounce."
 
"Yes, Bounce. He was always a very good dog in London. My home's in London, you know. But the last few days, since I have been here with Aunt Harriet, he's given a lot of trouble: got away by himself, and not come back for hours. Aunt Harriet thinks he goes hunting in the woods."
 
"If he does, he will end by being caught in a trap."
 
"Oh, do you think so? I did not know there were traps in the woods."
 
"There are. Poachers set them for rabbits, and whatever else they can catch."
 
There was a minute's silence. Then Tom inquired:
 
"Is Miss Perry your aunt?"
 
"Yes, my father's sister. I'm going to spend my holidays with her."
 
"Jolly for you! She's awfully rich, isn't she? You'll ride about in her motor-car, and have no end of a good time! What's your name?"
 
"Peter Perry. And yours?"
 
"Tom Burford."
 
"Do you know my aunt?"
 
"Rather not. We're not rich people living in a big house, with servants to wait on us, and everything we want! We're poor!"
 
There was a note of bitterness in Tom's voice, of which he was scarcely conscious himself, but Peter heard it, and replied sympathetically: "It must be dreadful to be poor—to be short, perhaps, of even food, and clothes, and—"
 
"Oh, I didn't mean we were so poor as that," Tom interrupted, crimsoning, and aghast at the false impression he had evidently given. "I meant—why, what's this?"
 
The other boy had stepped close to him and had slipped something— a shilling it proved to be—into his hand, murmuring that he was so sorry for him and that he wanted him to have the money to buy something for himself.
 
Tom looked at the coin in amazed silence for a minute, the hot colour slowly receding from his cheeks in his shame; them amazement and shame gave place to anger, and he flung the shilling in the road at his companion's feet.
 
"Pick it up from there, if you want it!" he cried wrathfully. "I don't know what you can think of me! Get out of my way and let me pass!"
 
"Oh, wait, wait!" cried Peter Perry, seemingly much distressed.
 
But Tom pushed him roughly aside, and, followed by Tim, who was now in a chastened frame of mind, strode off at a great rate in the direction of his home, his heart hot with anger against the boy who, he considered, had insulted him.
 
"I shan't tell them about it at home," he decided; "for I suppose I oughtn't to have said we were poor. But, oh! how was it he didn't see I wasn't the sort of boy to take money? How could he have made such a mistake?"
CHAPTER II AN OPPORTUNITY MISSED

 
 
THE first week of the summer holidays had passed when, one morning, as Nellie and Tom Burford were standing looking into the window of their favourite sweetshop in the town, a handsome motor-car, painted dark green, with a chauffeur in dark green livery, drew up before the adjoining shop (a draper's), and an elderly lady, with a plain, kind face, got out of it.
 
"I shall not be long, Peter," the children heard her say.
 
"Miss Perry!" whispered Nellie, as the lady went into the draper's shop.
 
Tom nodded. He was gazing at Peter Perry, who, with Bounce by his side, occupied the seat behind the chauffeur's in the car.
 
"I wonder who the boy can be?" Nellie continued, in the same tone. "I never saw him before, did you?"
 
"Once," Tom answered. "He's Miss Perry's nephew. Have you decided what you will buy, Nellie?" he inquired.
 
"Yes," said the little girl; "caramels, I think. I'd have chocolates, only they don't last so long. You like caramels, don't you?"
 
"Oh, yes! I'll wait outside while you get them."
 
Accordingly Nellie, who had twopence to spend, went into the shop, followed by Tim. As soon as the pair had disappeared, Tom, with a would-be-indifferent air, strolled a few steps forward and passed the motor-car, then turned and repassed it. The chauffeur had got out, and was standing on the pavement, but Peter Perry had not moved, and was sitting with his eyes fixed straight before him.
 
"I wonder if he saw me?" Tom said to himself. "I don't think he did. Of course, I shouldn't dream of speaking to him. I should like him to know that."
 
He strolled forward again and paused in a line with the car, giving a slight cough to attract Peter's attention, intending, as soon as the boy looked at him, to give him a withering glance and move on— in short, to cut him.
 
But the unexpected happened. At the sound of the cough Peter started slightly, and immediately turned his dark eyes upon Tom; there was not the very faintest sign of recognition in them, however, and he did not speak. At that instant Miss Perry came out of the draper's, and Tom beat a hasty retreat to the sweetshop doorway. Instead of having cut Peter Perry, he had been cut by him. Tom's cheeks were aflame with anger when his little sister joined him.
 
"Oh, Tom," she cried, looking with an expression of mingled wistfulness and admiration at the car, which was now on the point of starting, "how nice it must be to be rich like Miss Perry! I wish she was our aunt, don't you? What a good time that boy must have, mustn't he? Oh, what a nice dog!"
 
"Come along, come along!" said Tom gruffly. "Don't stare so, Nellie! The dog's a savage brute!"
 
"How do you know, Tom?"
 
"Because he fought Tim the other day—would have half killed him, I believe, if a man hadn't come along and interfered. His name is Bounce."
 
"How did you find out that?"
 
"His master—he belongs to Miss Perry's nephew—told me so."
 
"Oh, then you've spoken to Miss Perry's nephew? Tell me about him!"
 
"There's nothing to tell, except that he's called Peter Perry."
 
"Is he nice? Do you like him?"
 
"Like him? No!"
 
Nellie opened her eyes wide in surprise, for her brother's voice sounded quite fierce. They were walking homewards now, and a few minutes later they turned into the road, on one side of which was Ladysmith Terrace. As they did so they saw a caravan, painted yellow and red, and laden with brushes and baskets and tin-ware, going on ahead of them, drawn by a big grey horse, whilst a young gipsy woman was calling at each door of the terrace trying to make sales. "Isn't it a dear little home?" exclaimed Nellie, her gaze fixed with admiration on the gaudy caravan; "doesn't it look pretty and snug? I wish I could see what it is like inside."
 
They quickened their steps to overtake it, which they did easily, for it was going very slowly. A swarthy, black-eyed man was seated on the right shaft, driving; he was whistling a merry tune, and appeared the picture of contentment.
 
"Oh, look at the pretty little lace curtains in the windows!" cried Nellie. "Aren't they clean? And tied with pink ribbons, too!"
 
As she spoke the caravan came to a stop close to the pavement. The driver ceased whistling, jumped off the shaft, and proceeded to slip a nosebag over the horse's head. That done, he went to the back of the caravan and opened the door, whereupon a little girl, almost a baby, came out on the steps and flung herself into his arms. He laughed and kissed her, then set her on the ground; she immediately toddled around the caravan, and going up to the old grey horse, clasped one of his forelegs in her chubby arms. The animal ceased eating for a minute, turned his head and looked at her, then, by no means disturbed, went on with his meal. Much interested, Nellie and Tom stood by, watching.
 
"If I were you I should be afraid the horse would trample on her," Tom remarked, addressing the gipsy man; "I suppose she's your child, isn't she?"
 
"Yes," was the answer, "my only one. Old Bob trample on her? Not he! He's as quiet as a lamb. Zingra can do what she likes with him."
 
"Zingra! What a pretty name!" whispered Nellie to her brother. "I wonder if she likes sweeties," she said aloud, "because if she does she shall have some of mine." She opened her packet of caramels as she spoke, and the gipsy child turned from the horse to watch her. "Hold out your hand, please, Zingra!"
 
Zingra obeyed, her rosy lips parting in a smile which revealed two rows of pearly teeth, and Nellie placed three caramels in her tiny brown palm. At that minute the gipsy woman came up, and seeing what Nellie had done, exclaimed: "There, now, Zingra, isn't that kind of the pretty little lady? What do you say?"
 
"T'ank-oo," lisped Zingra, who was already skinning the thin paper from one of her caramels.
 
Meanwhile Tom had read the name painted on the side of the caravan, and learnt that the gipsy man was called Moses Lee, and that he was a licensed hawker. He asked him where he was going, and was told that it was to Hatwell Green, a piece of waste ground by the roadside, rather more than a mile from Chilaton. It was the gipsies' intention to encamp there for a few weeks whilst they traded in the town and district.
 
Mrs. Lee, having been to the doors of all the houses in Ladysmith Terrace, now seated herself with her little daughter on one of the steps at the back of the caravan, and her husband, having relieved Bob of his nosebag, perched himself on the shaft once more, and drove on, slowly as before. Whilst Nellie and Tom stood looking after the caravan, the former exchanging waves of the hand with Zingra, a motor-horn sounded in the road behind them, and looking round they recognised Miss Perry's car. As it passed them Tom shot one swift glance at its occupants, and it seemed to him that Peter deliberately turned his face away as he did so.
 
"I hate that boy!" he exclaimed passionately; "I shall hate him as long as I live!"
 
"Why?" questioned Nellie. "You may as well tell me," she added coaxingly; "do, Tom!"
 
"Well, perhaps I will by and by, but it must be a secret, mind."
 
"Very well."
 
Later in the day, Nellie, whose curiosity had now been thoroughly aroused, succeeded in prevailing upon Tom to give her his confidence. When she had learnt his cause for grievance against Peter Perry she was quite as indignant as he was himself.
 
"Oh, Tom, it was dreadful for you!" she declared, "and do you mean to say that he didn't apologise afterwards?—when you had flung his shilling back, I mean?"
 
"No. He wanted me to stop, but I wouldn't. I walked straight away."
 
"I think you ought to have waited," Nellie said after a minute's reflection.
 
"He could have apologised to me in the town to-day if he had liked," Tom reminded her.
 
"Yes, of course. And he pretended he didn't see you?"
 
"No, not exactly. He looked straight at me, and took no notice of me whatever. It was pretty cool behaviour, wasn't it?"
 
"It was horrid of him! Worse than his offering you money! He may have meant that kindly—you had told him we were poor—"
 
"Do you think I look like a beggar?" Tom broke in hotly.
 
"Oh, no, no!"
 
Nellie, with Tim by her side, was curled up on the sitting-room sofa, a delicate flush on her thin cheeks, her blue eyes very bright, whilst Tom moved restlessly about the room, his hands in his trousers' pockets. By and by the boy came to the sofa and stood looking down at his sister.
 
"What a colour you have, Nellie!" he said. "I don't think there's much amiss with you now!"
 
"Oh, no," she agreed, "I'm quite well, but I wish I was not so tired— I'm always tired! Oh, Tom, how I wish we could have gone away to the sea, don't you?"
 
"Yes, but I didn't know you felt like that! I thought you didn't mind our having to stay at home."
 
"I do really, but I don't want Mother and Father to know it. I—I suppose it's my fault we're not going. Oh, you know what I mean! I heard Mother and Father talking, and Father said my illness had cost nearly fifty pounds; he said it wouldn't have mattered if he'd had a rise at the bank, but he hasn't, you know."
 
"Yes, I know. It's a great shame. He expected to be made cashier, but another man, whose father has shares in the bank, has been given the post."
 
"Oh, how very unfair! Did Father tell you?"
 
"No. He told Dr. Brewer. I don't think they thought I was listening. Dr. Brewer thought it very unfair, too. He said: 'Never mind, old man, your turn will come.' But Father said he was afraid it would be a good while coming, because he had no friends at court."
 
"No friends at court?" echoed Nellie wonderingly. "What did he mean by that?"
 
"I couldn't think; so I asked Mother. She said he meant he wasn't well known by the heads of the bank: directors, I think she called them. If Father knew a director, he might get a better post. See?"
 
Nellie nodded, looking very thoughtful. "I suppose there's no way of our getting to know a director?" she asked, an eager light in her blue eyes.
 
"I should say not," Tom answered, with a short, amused laugh.
 
The little girl concluded that she had said something her brother considered silly, so put no more questions. On the strength of his two years' seniority, he sometimes treated her with an air of superiority, which she secretly disliked.
 
"I wish the holidays were over," Tom said presently, in a grumbling tone. "There's nothing for me to do, and no one for me to play with except you. I say, Nellie," he continued, his voice brightening, "wouldn't you like to go with me to Hatwell Green to-morrow and see the gipsies' encampment?"
 
"Yes, indeed I should," Nellie answered. Then her face clouded, and she added: "But I'm afraid I couldn't walk there and back."
 
"Why, it's only a mile distant!"
 
Sudden tears filled the little girl's eyes, and her lips quivered.
 
"If you only knew how tired I get, Tom," she faltered. "It isn't that I don't want to go." Her voice broke with a sob.
 
Tom felt as though a cold hand had gripped his heart. It was fear— fear that he might lose his little sister. He knew how ill she was. He turned away from her, and moved to the open window, where he stood quite still and silent for some minutes.
 
"Here's Miss Perry's car again!" he exclaimed by and by. "And, yes, Peter Perry's in it. Come and look!"
 
Nellie obeyed. As she reached her brother's side, Tim, who had followed her, jumped on a chair and stood with his forefeet on the window-ledge, also looking out. After the motor, which was being driven slowly, had passed by, Tom cried: "There! What do you think of that? His face was turned this way, and he must have recognised me, yet you see he took no notice. He must have recognised Tim, too. Oh, I know the sort of boy he is: nasty, stuck-up snob!"
 
 
CHAPTER III THE GIPSIES' ENCAMPMENT

 
THE following morning, at the breakfast-table, Mr. Burford remarked to his little daughter: "Dr. Brewer's coming to see you some time to-day, my dear, so you must stay indoors until he has been here."
 
"Very well, Father," Nellie answered. "Did you ask him to come?" she inquired. "He said the last time he saw me that he shouldn't call again without he was sent for, and I'm not ill, you know."
 
"No, not ill," Mr. Burford agreed. "But you're not very strong, are you? Didn't I hear you complaining of leg-ache last night?"
 
"Yes," said the little girl; "my legs are always aching now, and they feel so weak and funny sometimes, just as if they were somebody else's legs, not mine."
 
"Perhaps Dr. Brewer may be able to give you some medicine to put them right," suggested Tom. "He may, mayn't he, Mother?"
 
"Oh, I hope so," Mrs. Burford replied. She spoke with a smile and in a cheerful tone, but her glance as it rested on her little daughter showed anxiety to Tom's sharp, watchful eyes.
 
Nellie was looking very pale and languid this morning, and did not in the least mind having to remain indoors. Breakfast over, Tom said he would walk to the bank with his Father, and soon afterwards the pair set off together, accompanied by the ever-ready Tim.
 
"Father," began the boy, as soon as they had left the house, "I believe you're worried about Nellie, aren't you?"
 
"Yes, Tom, I am," Mr. Burford replied. "Don't alarm yourself," he continued hastily, for Tom had suddenly become quite white. "I don't think she's actually ill, but you know that illness of hers pulled her down dreadfully, and—well, she's a frail little thing, and she doesn't pick up strength so quickly as we hoped she would."
 
"I know what Dr. Brewer will say when he sees her," Tom said in a troubled tone; "he'll say, as he did before, that she ought to go to the seaside for a change."
 
Mr. Burford nodded. "Yes, I quite expect that will be it," he agreed. "If he does, we must manage to send her," he added, to Tom's surprise.
 
"But, Father, how can it be managed?" the little boy questioned. "I thought you couldn't spare the money. Mother told me you couldn't."
 
"I can't spare the money for a holiday for us all this year, and if I could, that would only mean a fortnight's change; but I've been hearing of a school—a sort of nursing home it is really— at Broadstairs, where for a small sum a week, delicate children are medically treated, taught, and well cared for. If I don't manage to send Nellie there for a few months—say, till Christmas—"
 
"What, by herself?" broke in Tom, utterly aghast at this idea. "Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't like that!"
 
"Of course, some one—her mother, most probably—would take her to Broadstairs," Mr. Burford explained. "I was not suggesting that she should make such a long journey alone."
 
"But she would be alone with strangers afterwards! In a strange place, too! Oh, how can you bear to think of it, Father? I'm sure Mother won't let her go. You don't think she will, do you?"
 
"Yes, certainly, if it is best for our little girl. It may be a matter of life or death whether Nellie goes to Broadstairs or not. Yes, Tom, indeed it may. The air there is very good, I am told, and Dr. Brewer believes it would be the best medicine Nellie could possibly have. Of course, we shall miss the child dreadfully, but we must put all personal feelings aside for her sake. I know her mother will, and so must you and I, Tom."
 
Tom liked to be linked with his father in that way, and his face, which had been overcast with dismay, suddenly brightened.
 
"Remember, our conversation has been confidential," Mr. Burford reminded him. "Don't say anything about Broadstairs to Nellie for the present. You understand?"
 
Tom nodded assent. They had reached the bank now, so there was no time for further conversation. The little boy stood outside on the pavement for several minutes after his father had left him, reflecting on what had been said; then, noticing that Tim was looking up at him with a questioning expression in his brown eyes, he stooped and patted the dog, saying: "All right, old fellow; we'll have a good walk in the country before we go home, I know that's what you want."
 
A quarter of an hour later Tom had left the town and was passing along the road which led by Halcyon Villa. So occupied was his mind with thoughts of his sister that he had reached the end of the road, and had turned into a narrow lane, shaded by hazel bushes which nearly met overhead, when a low growl from Tim warned him that another dog was near.
 
"To heel, Tim!" he commanded, sharply, and, as Tim obeyed, he caught sight of Peter Perry, seated on a mossy bank on one side of the lane, holding Bounce by a leash. "Don't let your dog go!" he shouted.
 
"All right, I won't!" Peter answered. He rose as he spoke, his dark cheeks flushing, walked a few steps forward, and stopped. "It's Tom Burford, isn't it?" he said, in a hesitating, nervous tone.
 
Tom stared at him, struck dumb with amazement. Was it really possible that Peter did not recognise him? Oh, he could not believe that!
 
"Of course it is Tom Burford," Peter continued. "I knew your voice the minute I heard it. I had been wondering who was coming. I'm so glad it's you! I've been hoping to meet you—"
 
"That's enough!" interrupted Tom, angrily. "You have been hoping to meet me? You expect me to believe that? If it was true you'd have spoken to me the other day in the town!"
 
"The other day in the town?" echoed Peter. "Oh, did we meet in the town? I wish you'd spoken to me, then—"
 
"Why should I have spoken to you?" Tom interrupted again; "I don't want to have anything to do with you!"
 
"I didn't think you did," Peter replied, with surprising meekness; "of course there was no reason why you should have spoken to me— I only said I wished you had. I want to tell you how very, very sorry I am about that shilling. Please do believe that I didn't mean to insult you. I—I thought if you were so poor—" He broke off, looking greatly distressed.
 
"I wouldn't have taken your money if I'd been starving!" declared Tom.
 
"I didn't mean to insult you," Peter repeated, and, to Tom's amazement, there were actually tears in his eyes as he spoke. "How could I tell what sort of boy you were?"
 
"You might have seen, I should have thought!"
 
"Oh, but surely you know—" Peter was saying eagerly, when the two dogs, which had been regarding each other with hostile glances, began to snarl. "Oh, they're going to fight again!" he exclaimed; "what can we do?"
 
"You'd better go on," Tom said, gripping Tim by the collar; "I couldn't hold my dog if he struggled much—he's awfully strong. Don't wait any longer! Go on—do go on!"
 
Thus adjured, Peter did go on, and in a very few minutes disappeared, with Bounce, around the turn leading from the lane into the road.
 
"Well, that is the most extraordinary boy I have ever met," Tom reflected, as, having released Tim, he went along the lane; "the idea of his pretending he didn't recognise me in the town, or to-day either until I spoke! I don't think he can be quite right in his head."
 
By and by he came to a five-barred gate. It was locked, but he climbed over it and crossed two grass fields to a wood beyond. Through the wood he went, and into the road which passed by Hatwell Green. Five minutes later he had reached the gipsies' encampment.
 
Hatwell Green was a triangular piece of common ground, with fields on two sides and the high road on the other. There were several caravans there besides the Lees', and two tents; in front of one of the latter a group of children were playing, amongst whom was Zingra. The little girl left the others as soon as her bright dark eyes espied Tom, and made for the red and yellow caravan, calling for her mother. A moment later Mrs. Lee descended the steps of the caravan, and, with Zingra holding to her skirt, came and spoke to Tom. "Good morning, young gentleman," she said, smiling. "Look, Zingra, at the pretty doggie!"
 
Zingra dropped her hold of her mother's skirt, and clasped Tim around the neck. At first Tom was afraid the dog might resent this treatment, but instead of doing so he seemed much flattered by the little girl's embrace, and licked her brown cheek.
 
"It isn't often a dog will hurt a child," Mrs. Lee observed; "Zingra's like her father, and has a soft spot in her heart for dumb animals."
 
"Don't you keep a dog?" inquired Tom.
 
The woman shook her head. "Our last was shot by a gamekeeper," she said, and Moses says he won't get another. "The poor creature crawled back to the caravan wounded, and died." She passed her hand across her eyes. "I can't bear to think of it," she added feelingly.
 
"I dare say not," Tom answered, with ready sympathy.
 
Mrs. Lee was a very friendly and talkative woman. She informed Tom that there were three families encamped on the Green, and that the heads of the families, with the exception of herself, had gone to attend a fair which was being held at a town some miles distant; she had been left to fulfil some domestic duties and see the children came to no harm, she explained. By and by she asked Tom if he would like to look around, and when he gave an eager assent, allowed him to go into the tents, one of which was used as a kitchen and had a stove in it, whilst the other was the sleeping quarters for the men. The gipsy children had all stopped their game and were clustered around Zingra, watching her and Tim.
 
"I think I must be going now," Tom remarked at last, "they don't know at home where I am; so I must say good-bye, Mrs. Lee. Come, Tim!"
 
"No, no!" cried Zingra, "me keep Tim!" And she held the dog tight by his collar.
 
There was a general laugh at this, but Zingra was quite serious. Tom, intensely amused, answered gaily: "Very well, then. That's settled. Good-bye everybody!"
 
He did not speak to Tim again, but scarcely had he taken half-a-dozen steps when there was an outcry from Zingra. Tim, the moment he had seen his master turn his back on the Green, had struggled himself free; he now bounded up to Tom and jumped against him in a state of great excitement.
 
"Down, Tim, down!" cried Tom, laughing delightedly, and caressing the little animal. "So you won't stay with the gipsies? Not likely! I didn't think you would, my boy!"
 
There were two ways back to Chilaton, one way across country by which Tom had come, the other by road, and the little boy chose to return by the latter. His conversation with Mrs. Lee had quite dismissed Peter Perry from his mind for the time, but as he neared Halcyon Villa his thoughts reverted to him.
 
He was close to the big iron gates when he heard voices in the garden within, and caught the words: "Yes, I know Bounce would not be likely to lead you into danger, but please don't go away from the house again without either myself or one of the servants is with you."
 
"Oh, all right, Aunt Harriet," Peter's voice answered submissively, "I didn't intend to have been away so long. I'll keep in the garden in future."
 
"Wants a nurse to look after him, evidently," Tom said to himself as he passed on, "and he's as old as I am, I should think! What a molly-coddle the fellow must be!"
 
 
CHAPTER IV AN UNEXPECTED CALL

 
 
"WELL, as Peter Perry has said he didn't mean to insult you, I wouldn't think any more about it if I were you," said Nellie, after her brother had told her of his meeting in the lane with Peter: "about the shilling of course I mean. I dare say he's sorry enough he offered it to you now."
 
"Oh, yes, I'm sure he is that!" Tom answered. "He was sorry, I expect, as soon as I flung it back at him. But, Nellie, he must be a dreadful fraud, mustn't he?"
 
"A dreadful fraud?"
 
"Yes—to pretend he hadn't recognised me that day in the town, and—"
 
"Perhaps he cannot remember faces," the little girl put in eagerly; "you may depend that's it! Didn't you say he told you he had been hoping to meet you?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Well, he wouldn't have said that if he'd known he'd meet you, would he?"
 
"I don't know. Perhaps not. He certainly looked as though he was speaking the truth."
 
Tom, on his return home, had found Nellie in the yard at the back of the house, where it was cool and shady on this hot August day. She was reclining in a hammock chair, and had been listlessly looking over a picture-book which had not interested her much; her thin little face had brightened when her brother joined her, and it was now expressive of eager attention.
 
"I think there is something very odd about him," Tom continued, his mind still dwelling on Peter Perry; "I can't understand him at all. One thing I am sure of, and that is that he is a coward; he was in a regular panic of fear at the idea of the dogs going for each other again."
 
"Well, it's dreadful to see a dog-fight," Nellie remarked, with a shudder; "I know it makes me shake all over, and—"
 
"But then you're a girl!" Tom broke in. "If you were a boy you wouldn't feel like that!"
 
"I believe I should! And dogs make such a frightful noise when they fight!"
 
Tom laughed. "The noise does no harm, Nellie. Yes, in my opinion Peter Perry's a coward. And fancy a boy as big as I am promising not to go out alone! Ah, I haven't told you about that!"
 
"No. Tell me, Tom, do."
 
He repeated the snatch of conversation he had overheard when passing Halcyon Villa on his way home, whilst she listened with amazement.
 
"That does seem very strange," she remarked, "for he looks quite able to take care of himself, doesn't he? Perhaps he gave his aunt the promise to please her, because she wished it; if that was it of course it was very nice and kind of him."
 
"Oh, very!" Tom replied sarcastically. Then he quickly changed the conversation by telling his sister of his visit to Hatwell Green, and made her laugh about Zingra and Tim, concluding with: "I do wish you had been with me, Nellie!"
 
Nellie wished so, too, but she did not say so, only heaved a deep, deep sigh. At that minute Mrs. Burford appeared at the back door of the house, and called to her little daughter to come in and see Dr. Brewer.
 
"May I come as well, Mother?" requested Tom, for he was eager to hear the doctor's opinion of Nellie.
 
"No, Tom," she answered; adding, "I do not expect Dr. Brewer will keep Nellie long."
 
So Tom remained in the yard, feeling very anxious, and tormenting himself by the fear that the doctor might discover there was something really seriously amiss with his sister. A quarter of an hour dragged by, then Nellie, looking, to his intense joy and relief, smiling and hopeful, returned.
 
"Dr. Brewer says he believes he has thought of something which will make me quite strong again," she informed him gleefully; "but I shan't have it just yet because he has to write about it—send away for it, I suppose."
 
"Oh!" exclaimed Tom, very puzzled. Then suddenly he comprehended the situation. Dr. Brewer meant that Nellie should be sent to Broadstairs.
 
"I hope," added the little girl, "that it won't be a very expensive medicine, because already I've cost Father so much."
 
Mr. Burford came home to dinner at mid-day, and, later, Tom again walked to the bank with him. Mr. Burford had had a few words in private with his wife, and he told Tom that it had been decided that Nellie was to go to Broadstairs, if possible, in September.
 
"I shall return and spend the afternoon with her, now," Tom said to himself, as soon as he had parted from his father at the bank door. "Oh, how dreadfully we shall miss her when she's gone!"
 
A quarter of an hour later Nellie, who had settled herself in an easy chair close to the window in the sitting-room, so that she could see the passers-by in the street, perceived her brother hurrying along towards home. The first glimpse of his countenance, which she could read like an open book, told her that something had happened to rouse his naturally quick temper, and she looked at him with an expression of inquiry in her eyes when, a very few minutes later, he burst noisily into her presence. "He's done it again!" he cried; "yes, he's actually dared—dared to do it again! This time I met him face to face—I was so close to him that I could have touched him!"
 
"Him? Who?" questioned Nellie. "Oh, do you mean that boy, Peter Perry?" There was sudden understanding in her tone.
 
"Of course I do! No one but Peter Perry would have treated me so—so abominably as that! After speaking to me as he did, this morning, too! It's no good trying to make excuses for him now, Nellie! I met him on the pavement, walking arm in arm with his aunt, and he neither looked at me nor spoke to me. I might have been— I might have been—"
 
The boy broke off, fairly choking with anger. There was a brief silence, during which Nellie, looking deeply concerned, watched him with kind eyes, then he went on:
 
"You can't think how I hate him—the cad! Oh, it is awful—awful to be treated with such contempt! Oh, look!—there he is again!"
 
"Where?" cried Nellie, leaning forward in her chair to gaze out of the window.
 
Tom pulled forward one of the lace curtains, and through it the sister and brother looked out at Peter Perry and his aunt, who were walking on the other side of the street. When they came directly opposite the house Miss Perry said something to her nephew, with whom she was still arm in arm; whereupon they immediately stepped off the pavement and crossed the road. A few moments later there was a knock at the front door of the house.
 
"Why, they've come here!" cried Tom, flushing scarlet; "they've made a mistake!—come to the wrong place!"
 
"Mother is out," Nellie said, "and Jane's dressing—I heard her go upstairs not many minutes ago, so she can't be ready to answer the door yet. One of us will have to do it."
 
"I shan't!" Tom declared. "Let them wait till Jane comes down."
 
Jane was the maid-of-all-work, a good-natured girl who had been living with the Burfords for nearly two years.
 
"Perhaps I had better go," said Nellie, rising; "Jane will think me unkind if I don't. Besides, I should like to know what Miss Perry wants; she may not have made a mistake."
 
The little girl left the room, full of curiosity. Tom followed her into the passage, where he subsequently stood, watching and listening, his lips firmly compressed, a frown on his face.
 
Nellie opened the door, and, as she had expected, found herself confronted by Peter Perry and his aunt. The latter smiled at her in a friendly fashion, and inquired: "Mrs. Burford lives here, does she not?"
 
"Yes," Nellie answered; "but she's out—she's gone shopping. Did you want particularly to see her?"
 
"I wanted her to give me the character of a servant, Jane Fry, who has offered herself to me as a plain cook. Please tell your Mother I will write."
 
"Oh, yes, I will! I knew Jane was looking out for a situation as a cook. She thinks she should be earning higher wages than we pay her, and Mother thinks so, too. I'm so sorry Mother isn't here, but she won't be away long, I know. Wouldn't you like to come in and wait for her?"
 
Miss Perry thanked Nellie for her suggestion, and said that she would. Accordingly, she and her nephew, both looking very smiling, entered the house. As Nellie ushered them along the passage and into the little used drawing-room, Tom slipped by them and out of the front door, which he closed after him with a bang.
 
"Nellie doesn't care how badly I'm served," he told himself, wrathfully; "it's nothing to her how I'm slighted and insulted! Just because Miss Perry smiled at her and spoke pleasantly, she was won over at once. She won't like it when she finds I'm gone! Serve her right! Did she expect me to stay and be civil to Peter Perry, I wonder? I longed—yes, longed—to kick him out of the house!"
 
He took his cap from one of his coat-pockets, where he often kept it, put it on his head, and walked away in the direction of the country, never pausing till he found himself in the wood through which he had passed with Tim but a few hours before. There he flung himself full length on the mossy ground under the welcome shade of a huge beech tree, and gave himself up to nursing his grievances. He felt exceedingly annoyed with Nellie.
 
"And I had intended to spend the whole afternoon with her, and to be as nice and kind to her as I could possibly be," he reflected; "but of course she didn't know that. I wonder what she'll talk about to those Perrys! Oh, dear, I do wish I had Tim with me for company; he's with Mother, I expect."
 
It was a very hot afternoon, and by and by Tom began to feel very drowsy. His eyes had closed, and he was nearly asleep when the excited "Yap, yap, yap!" of a dog sounded not far distant, and he sat up quickly, suddenly very wide awake indeed. Could it be Tim he heard? No, that was not Tim's voice, but one much deeper. Nearer it came, then a rabbit scudded close by him, pursued by an Irish terrier—no other than Peter Perry's dog, Bounce.
 
"Bounce! Bounce!" cried Tom, springing to his feet. "He has got off by himself," he thought; "I suppose I'd better try to catch him and take him home. It won't do to leave him here, perhaps to get trapped."
 
By this time the dog had disappeared. A few minutes later, Tom discovered him digging at a rabbit hole, and knew he had lost his quarry; he was without a collar, and in a great state of heat.
 
"I don't know why I should bother to take him home," Tom muttered, as he stood watching him; "and I don't suppose he would follow me. Here, Bounce, Bounce!"
 
But Bounce took no notice. He continued digging, now and again uttering a whine of excitement, and pausing occasionally to sniff into the hole to assure himself the rabbit was still there. Tom searched his pockets and found a piece of string; he looked at it with a frown.
 
"I could lead him by this," he thought, "but I won't—no, I won't! I won't interfere with him, and I hope—yes, I hope he will stay here for hours, so that his master will think he is lost! I will mind my own business! I will let the dog go! Dig away, Bounce, to your heart's content!"
 
He turned on his heel and walked off. Half an hour later he arrived at home. As he shut the front door behind him, Nellie came downstairs. "Oh, why did you go away?" she cried. "I'm so sorry you did! Listen! You mustn't be angry with Peter Perry any longer! He didn't see you—he couldn't see you, because—oh, isn't it sad?— because he is blind—quite, quite blind!"
CHAPTER V LOST—AND FOUND AGAIN

 
 
PETER PERRY was blind! Tom, startled and immeasurably shocked, could scarcely credit it till his mother had added her testimony to Nellie's, and explained that the afflicted boy had been blind from birth.
 
"Isn't it dreadfully sad?" said Nellie, surprised at the silence with which her brother had taken the information she had given him, and little guessing the tumult of emotions which were stirring in his breast.
 
"Yes," he assented, adding, "Oh, I wish I'd known this before!"
 
"I didn't tell him you believed he had kept on cutting you," Nellie remarked; "I thought there was no need to do that. Everything's explained now that we know he's blind."
 
During tea the conversation was mostly about Miss Perry and her nephew, but Tom took little part in it. By listening he learnt all he desired to know. Mrs. Burford had returned shortly after he had left the house, it appeared, and Nellie had talked to Peter whilst her mother answered the questions Miss Perry had put concerning Jane.
 
"I never spoke to anyone who was blind before," Nellie observed by and by; "I'm sure Peter Perry doesn't look blind, does he, Mother?"
 
"No, my dear," Mrs. Burford replied; "his eyes are not disfigured in any way."
 
"What's wrong with them?" asked Tom.
 
"There is something amiss with the nerves at the back of them," Mrs. Burford answered; "I don't quite understand what it is, but whatever it is, is incurable."
 
"He will never be able to see as long as he lives," said Nellie, very solemnly; "he told me so himself."
 
"Did he seem much cut up about it?" inquired Tom.
 
Nellie shook her head. "He seemed quite bright and happy," she said. "I like him ever so much. He made me promise to speak to him when we meet out of doors, and, of course, I shall."
 
Later, when Tom was alone with his sister, he began, with a note of severity in his voice, "Now tell me all you said to Peter Perry, Nellie. Did you mention that shilling?"
 
"Yes," she admitted, "I did, because I wanted to hear what he had to say. I told him how upset you had been about it, and he was awfully, awfully sorry—you thought he was, didn't you? Of course, if he had seen you it wouldn't have happened—he wouldn't have dreamed of giving you money, I mean. He said he'd like to be friends with us, if we didn't mind, and I promised to speak to you about it. The next time you meet him do tell him you're willing to be friends!"
 
"Perhaps I will. What else did he talk about?"
 
"Oh, about dogs, and motor-cars, and—and I told him I'd never ridden in a motor-car in my life, and I believe he's going to ask his aunt to take me for a drive in hers one day—he said he would. Then he told me about himself. He has no sisters or brothers, and his mother's dead, but he has a father who's coming to fetch him at the end of September. He says it's dull visiting at Halcyon Villa, though his aunt is very, very kind to him, but she's so afraid some harm will come to him that she will hardly let him out of her sight. So it was just as I guessed, you see, though of course I didn't think he was blind."
 
Tom made no response to this, nor did he ask any more questions. The next morning, after going with his father to the bank, he decided he would take Tim for a stroll past Halcyon Villa, and then, if he should happen to see Peter Perry, he would speak to him. "Bounce ought to have had a good thrashing when he got home last night," he reflected, as, on nearing Miss Perry's pretty, creeper-covered house, he motioned Tim to keep to heel, "but I don't expect he did. If I see his master I shall tell him where he went and what he was doing."
 
But he did not carry out this intention. Peter Perry was in the garden, as it happened; he heard Tom's footsteps halt at the gate, and quickly made his way to it. "Who is it?" he inquired.
 
"Tom Burford," was the response.
 
Peter promptly opened the gate and asked Tom to come in; but the invitation was politely declined. "I'm afraid you're still angry with me!" Peter remarked, regretfully.
 
"No, indeed I'm not," Tom assured him. "But I won't come in, thank you, for I've Tim with me, and he'd be sure to fight with Bounce."
 
"Bounce is not here," Peter said, sadly; "we don't know what has become of him. He's lost."
 
"Lost?" gasped Tom.
 
"Yes, lost," Peter replied. "He was left chained to his kennel in the yard yesterday afternoon, so that he shouldn't follow Aunt Harriet and me," he quickly explained, "and somehow he managed to get his head out of his collar—it couldn't have been tight enough, I suppose— and went off by himself. He hasn't come back yet, and I'm afraid that either he's been stolen or trapped—"
 
"Oh, don't think that he's been trapped!" Tom broke in; "that would be too awful! I—I—oh, dear, what can I do?" His voice was tremulous and full of distress.
 
"There isn't anything you can do, thank you," Peter answered gratefully; "Aunt Harriet has sent a description of Bounce to the police and told them he's lost, and she's ordered bills to be printed, offering a pound reward to any one who finds him—they are to be posted out over the town. You'll come in now, won't you?"
 
But Tom declined again. "I'll go on to the woods," he said; "if Bounce is anywhere there it's just possible Tim may find him."
 
Nothing of the kind happened, however, and two hours later found Tom, who had searched the woods in vain, in the high road by Hatwell Green. He was feeling very unhappy, oppressed as he was with the guilty knowledge that he was, in a manner, responsible for the loss of the blind boy's dog.
 
"I ought to have taken him home to his master yesterday," he thought; "I could have if I'd liked. I knew he might get shot by a gamekeeper or caught in a trap, and I left him to take his chance out of spite."
 
Tom had been taught the golden rule—to do unto others as he would they should do unto him, but yesterday, alas! he had disregarded it, and now he was bitterly ashamed of himself. Oh, what a mean spirit he had shown.
 
The gipsies were still encamped at Hatwell Green; and to-day Moses Lee was at home, seated on the steps of his caravan, making clothes-pegs. Tom entered into conversation with him, and told him all about Bounce, even confessing that he had allowed the dog to remain in the woods to follow his own devices.
 
"Do you think you could find the rabbit hole where you left him?" Moses inquired, after the boy had finished his tale.
 
"Oh, yes!" Tom answered; "it's close to that big beech tree by the gate at the entrance to the woods, in a bit of old hedge full of rabbit holes. I've been there to-day—not that I thought I should find him there, of course. I dare say after he'd grown tired of digging he wandered miles away."
 
"My wife and little maid have gone into Chilaton," the gipsy remarked, changing the conversation; "we're off to-morrow, all of us. Zingra won't forget that dog of yours'—nodding at Tim; you'd best keep an eye on him or he will be lost, too!"
 
This was meant as a joke, of course, and Tom laughed, but only half-heartedly. He was moving on, when the gipsy called after him: "A pound reward, I think you said, young gentleman?"
 
"Yes," Tom assented, "and the address is Halcyon Villa."
 
"I wish I could earn that pound!" exclaimed the man, looking thoughtful.
 
"I wish you could!" Tom answered, fervently.
 
He saw no one as he passed Halcyon Villa on his backward journey, which he made as quickly as possible. On his arrival at home Nellie met him at the front door, a flush of excitement on her cheeks: "Oh, Tom, here you are at last!" she cried; "where have you been all the morning? I've been out with Mother, and what do you think? Peter Perry has lost his dog. There are notices in a lot of shop windows saying so, and offering a pound reward to any one who finds him, and— oh, you know all about it."
 
"I've seen Peter Perry, and he told me," Tom replied, gloomily; "he's awfully cut up."
 
"Oh, he would be. What do you think can have become of Bounce?"
 
Tom shook his head. "I've spent the morning in searching for him in the woods," he said; "but I've come across no sign of him."
 
"But he mayn't have gone to the woods."
 
"Oh, yes—that is, I feel sure he would. I'm afraid something must have happened to him, or he wouldn't have stayed out all night."
 
"I'm afraid so, too. Oh, it's dreadful! Poor Peter Perry! Oh, what should we feel if we'd lost our Tim!"
 
Tom was so miserably unhappy thinking of Bounce that he had not the heart to go out again that day. He stayed indoors, not doing anything, and looking so altogether out of sorts that by and by his mother inquired if he was feeling unwell; whereupon he said that he was well enough, but that he was sick of the holidays and everything, an answer which brought a grieved look to her face. A short while later he spoke so sharply to Nellie because she kept on asking what was the matter with him, that he made her cry, after which his conscience pricked him for his unkindness to his little sister, and he finally went to bed in such a state of nervous irritability and remorse that it was hours before he could get to sleep.
 
The following morning he awoke early with the feeling that something of a disastrous nature had occurred; and immediately his thoughts flew to the blind boy and his dog. Then a brilliant idea occurred to him. He would get up and go to Halcyon Villa before breakfast, and ascertain if Bounce had returned. In another moment he was out of bed.
 
It was nearly seven o'clock by the time Tom reached Halcyon Villa, but every blind in the house was down. He was panting, for he had run all the way from Ladysmith Terrace, so he stood waiting at the front door, before ringing, to regain his breath. Whilst he stood thus he heard the wheels of a heavy vehicle rumbling in the road, and then a red and yellow caravan came in sight, which he recognised as the Lees'. To his amazement it drew up to the gate.
 
"Why is it stopping here, I wonder?" muttered Tom. "Oh!" The "oh" was a cry of mingled joy and relief, and the next moment he was running across the lawn to meet Moses Lee, who had entered the garden leading an Irish terrier at the end of a piece of rope. The gipsy had found the wanderer and brought him home.
 
 
CHAPTER VI A PARTING
 
 
"NELLIE! I say, where are you, Nellie? It's all right! Bounce is safe! He's just been brought home."
 
Mr. and Mrs. Burford and their little daughter were at the breakfast-table when Tom burst in on them with his news. Nellie cried: "Oh, how glad I am!" and was beginning to ask questions when her father interposed by telling Tom to sit down and have his breakfast.
 
"I'm sorry I'm late," the little boy said apologetically, as he took his accustomed place. "I've been to Halcyon Villa, and stayed talking to Peter Perry and his aunt. I wanted so much to know if Bounce had been found."
 
"When was he found?" asked Nellie.
 
"Last night. But Moses Lee—that's the gipsy who found him—kept him tied up at Hatwell Green till this morning, when the caravan had to pass Halcyon Villa on their way through the town—the gipsies are moving to-day. I was standing at the front door when I saw the Lees' caravan stop at the gate. The blinds of the house were all down then, but a minute later a servant pulled up those in the dining-room, and after that came and opened the front door, and Peter Perry was close behind her. The instant he showed himself Bounce uttered a yell, broke away from Moses Lee, and simply went off his head—oh, it was a sight! First Bounce jumped around Peter like a mad thing, barking with joy, then, when he had quieted down, Peter took him up in his arms and kissed and hugged him, and—yes, really almost cried over him!"
 
"Poor boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Burford, whilst tears of sympathy shone in Nellie's blue eyes. "Where was the dog found?" she inquired.
 
"In a rabbit burrow, Mother," Tom replied.
 
He flushed scarlet as he spoke, and hung his head. For a minute he hesitated, then, in a few halting sentences, he explained how he had seen and left Bounce in the woods, and told of his interview with the gipsy on the preceding day.
 
"I think it would have been only kind if you had taken the dog back to his master," Mrs. Burford remarked, with a note of reproof in her voice.
 
"Yes, Mother," Tom answered; "I wished afterwards I had. You can't think what a weight off my mind it is to know he's all right."
 
"How came the dog to be found?" asked Mrs. Burford; "you have not told us that."
 
"No, but I will," Tom said eagerly. "Really it's quite wonderful he's living! Moses Lee put in all the afternoon yesterday looking for him, and couldn't find him; but, late in the evening, after his wife and Zingra had returned, he went into the woods again. This time he came upon the hole in the old hedge I'd told him of, where Bounce had been digging, and he got down on his knees and looked in. He saw the hole led into a regular rabbit run, and that the hedge was like a honeycomb with rabbit holes. Then he got up and went to the other side of the hedge, and there he saw another hole where Bounce had evidently been digging, too, and above the hole earth had given way— fallen and partly blocked the entrance. Well, what did he do as soon as he saw that, but go and fetch a spade, and begin to dig away at the hedge, and—"
 
"And he found Bounce there!" broke in Nellie excitedly.
 
"Yes," said Tom, "right in the middle of the rabbit run, almost smothered, poor little beast He'd dug himself in, and of course there wasn't room for him to turn round, so he tried to go on, and the earth had fallen on him and—well, he couldn't have lived much longer if Moses Lee hadn't found him when he did!"
 
"Has Miss Perry given Moses Lee the reward?" questioned Nellie.
 
"Oh, yes!" answered Tom. "She said she had never paid a sovereign with greater pleasure in her life. And, oh, Mother, what do you think? She's going to call here by and by to ask you to let me go to Halcyon Villa to tea; she says she would like her nephew and me to become better acquainted with each other. You will say 'yes,' won't you, Mother?"
 
Mrs. Burford exchanged a glance with her husband, and, looking very pleased, answered: "Certainly, my dear."
 
"Did Miss Perry say anything about me, Tom?" Nellie inquired.
 
"Oh, yes!" Tom replied promptly, adding, as he met the wistful glance of his little sister's eyes: "I'm sorry, Nellie, but she didn't say anything about asking you to tea."
 
It was between eleven and twelve o'clock that morning when Miss Perry's motor-car, with only Miss Perry and the chauffeur in it, drew up before the Burfords' house in Ladysmith Terrace. Tom had gone out to do an errand for his mother; but Nellie was at home, lying back in her favourite hammock chair in the shady yard, her pale little face swollen with weeping; for, since breakfast, she had been told of the change in store for her, that she was to spend three months at Broadstairs, away from her own people, and she could not reconcile herself to the idea at all. Her mother was with her when Jane came into the yard and said that Miss Perry was in the drawing-room.
 
"Will you come with me and see her, Nellie?" Mrs. Burford inquired.
 
"No, thank you," was the answer; "she hasn't come to ask me to tea!"
 
So Mrs. Burford went into the house alone. In a very short while she returned, her face lit up with a pleased smile. "Nellie, dear," she began, "Miss Perry wants to know if you would like a drive with her this morning—"
 
"Oh! oh!" interrupted Nellie, her voice shrill with surprise and excitement, "how simply lovely of her! I'll go and get ready at once!"
 
The little girl never forgot the delights of that first motor drive she took with Miss Perry. She sat very still with an expression of intense contentment on her face. The sun did not seem too hot now, and a breeze fanned her cheeks—there had been none in the yard at home. When, at length, after more than an hour's drive, she was set down before her own door in Ladysmith Terrace, how feeble her thanks sounded in return for the pleasure she had been given!
 
"I will take you with me another day," Miss Perry told her, smilingly, "and perhaps we may be able to persuade your Mother to come, too."
 
"Oh, yes!" cried Nellie; "thank you!—oh, thank you!"
 
She entered the house light-heartedly. She was not to go to Broadstairs till next month, she reflected, and, perhaps, before then, something might happen to prevent her going at all.
 
But nothing happened to prevent it. The remaining days of August passed all too quickly, Miss Perry's car was frequently seen now before the Burfords' house, and Tom was spending a great deal of his time with Peter Perry, whilst Tim and Bounce had evidently decided that the only course open to two reasonable dogs, whose masters had become friends, was to follow their example and be friends, too.
 
"It's the last day of August," Nellie remarked mournfully at breakfast one morning; "another week, and then—" She stopped with a choking lump in her throat.
 
"You'll like it at Broadstairs, I shouldn't wonder," Tom said hastily. "I'll promise to write to you," he went on, "and tell you everything you'll care to know."
 
This was very good of Tom, for he hated letter-writing. Nellie, aware of that fact, looked at him gratefully, and answered: "Yes, do! And never mind the spelling! That won't matter a bit!"
 
A fine, sunny morning, a week later, found the whole Burford family, Tim included, at the railway station. Mrs. Burford was to take Nellie to Broadstairs, remain there the night, and return on the morrow.
 
"Three months will soon pass," Tom whispered to his little sister, meaning to be consolatory.
 
"It's ages and ages!" she answered, looking very doleful indeed.
 
Then the train by which she and her mother were to travel ran into the station. Mr. Burford found corner seats in a third-class compartment for them, and the time had come for good-byes to be exchanged. Nellie had determined beforehand that she would be brave and not cry, and she succeeded in saying "Good-bye!" to both her father and brother and kissing them without breaking down; but when, after her father had settled her and her mother comfortably for the journey, Tom came to the carriage window, saying, "You haven't said good-bye to Tim, Nellie!" and lifted up the little dog for her to caress, her courage suddenly gave way, and her tears began to flow. "Take care of him, Tom," she whispered with a sob, as she leaned out of the carriage window and kissed Tim, too; "and, oh, I do hope he won't forget me! I don't know what I shall feel if he doesn't remember me when I come back!" Then the guard blew his whistle, and Nellie hastily drew in her head. The train moved slowly out of the station, and a minute later was gone.
 
"Come, Tom!" said Mr. Burford, touching his son on the arm.
 
With the dog still in his arms, Tom followed his father out of the station. In the street he set Tim down. "I was afraid if I let him go before he might run after the train," he explained. "Oh, Father, won't it be strange without Nellie?" he sighed.
 
"Very strange," Mr. Burford agreed. "Poor little maid, her greatest trial will be when she comes to say 'Good-bye' to her mother to-morrow; she is so unaccustomed to strangers. Are you going to come with me as far as the bank?"
 
"Oh, yes, Father!"
 
"And what will you do afterwards?"
 
"I thought perhaps I'd walk as far as Halcyon Villa, and ask Miss Perry to allow Peter to go somewhere with me this afternoon—fishing perhaps."
 
"I hope you'll not wear out your welcome at Halcyon Villa, Tom!"
 
"Miss Perry said she was always pleased to see me," Tom said, eagerly. "She is glad Peter has me for his friend—he never had a real friend before he knew me."
 
"How was that?"
 
"Well, you see, he doesn't go to school when he's at home—he has a tutor who's especially clever at teaching blind people; so he doesn't mix with other boys. Oh, Father, what a noise!"
 
A big traction engine, drawing several vans, was puffing along the street in the direction of the market square, a large piece of ground in the centre of the town, where, during three days in the middle of September, a fair was always held.
 
"It's a menagerie," said Mr. Burford, catching sight of the picture of a lion on one of the vans from which the covering had slipped. "I saw it was advertised to be here next week for the Fair. Look, there come an elephant and a couple of camels! Well, here we are at the bank. Good-bye, my boy, for the present."
 
After parting from his father, Tom followed in the rear of the elephant and the camels to the market square, where the animals were taken into a tent which had been prepared for them, and watched with the greatest interest whilst the vans belonging to the menagerie were arranged in a circle, a space being left for the entrance of the public to the exhibition. There being nothing more to be seen at present, he was thinking of going on to Halcyon Villa when his attention was attracted by an angry voice proceeding from a shabby caravan which had been pushed as far back as possible into a corner of the square, and curiosity prompted him to stop and listen to it.
 
"You little white-faced coward, you!" cried the voice, and there followed a string of oaths and what sounded like a blow. After that there was silence; then the door of the caravan opened, and a stout purple-faced woman came out, leading by the hand a little girl with a frightened, tear-stained countenance. The pair walked a few steps side by side, then suddenly the child pulled her hand from the woman's and started forward at a run.
 
"Stop her! Stop her!" cried the woman, appealing to Tom. "Set your dog at her—that'll fetch her back!"
 
"Stop her yourself!" retorted Tom shortly, and, bidding Tim keep to heel, he turned away. Already the little girl was out of the square and had disappeared from sight.
CHAPTER VII A DISPUTED STORY

 
ON reaching Halcyon Villa, Tom found Miss Perry and her nephew in the garden, the former cutting flowers for the house, and received a hearty greeting from both of them. He told them all about Nellie's departure, and then put his request that Peter might be allowed to go fishing with him in the afternoon.
 
"Fishing?" cried Miss Perry, in a tone of distinct disapproval; "no, certainly not. Supposing Peter fell into the water, what then?"
 
"But I'd see he didn't fall into the water," Tom assured her; "I'd look after him all right. I thought we might go to the pond near Hatwell Green—"
 
"I can't hear of it!" interposed Miss Perry. "I'm very sorry," she continued, observing the disappointment on both boys' faces, "but you must decide on some other form of amusement, my dears. You could not fish anyway, Peter."
 
"Oh, yes, I think I could!" Peter answered quickly. "Tom and I have been talking about it; he has promised to lend me a rod and to bait the hook—I should feel in a moment if I had a bite."
 
"Of course you would!" agreed Tom, looking appealingly at Miss Perry; and he believed it, for Peter's sense of touch, like that of most blind people, was particularly acute. "The pond is not very deep," he added; "I never heard of any one having been drowned there."
 
"Do, please, let us go, Aunt Harriet!" pleaded Peter.
 
"No, Peter," Miss Perry answered decidedly, "I cannot permit it. I have quite made up my mind. If Tom wants to go fishing it must be without you; but if, on the other hand, he would like to take you for a walk this afternoon, I shall be pleased for you to accompany him, and I hope he will return with you to tea."
 
Having cut all the flowers she required, Miss Perry now left the boys and went into the house.
 
"What a pity she should be so nervous about you!" Tom exclaimed, with a disappointed sigh. "Never mind," he went on, noticing the sad look on his companion's face, "we will manage to enjoy the afternoon somehow. We'll—"
 
"But I don't want to keep you from going fishing!" Peter broke in.
 
"Do you think it would be any fun going by myself?" asked Tom. "Rather not! Your aunt said we might go for a walk together, and we will. I know where I will take you. To the Market Square. The shows are arriving there for the Fair next week."
 
"I did not know there was to be a Fair. Aunt Harriet hasn't said anything about it."
 
"Oh, I don't suppose she gives it a second thought! But it's rare fun, Peter. There are sweet-stalls, dozens of them, and shooting-galleries, and all sorts of shows—this year there'll be a menagerie. And there are always a dwarf, and a giant, and a fat woman; and the smallest pony in the world; and the biggest horse; and a clever donkey who does tricks and knows every word that's said to him. Last year when the donkey's master gave him a bunch of flowers and told him to present it to the prettiest lady present, he gave it to our Nellie! Wasn't it clever of him? I'd never thought before whether Nellie was pretty or not, but the people all clapped their hands, so I suppose they agreed with the donkey."
 
The boys had strolled towards the garden gate whilst talking, and now stood leaning against it. Tom, who seemed able to think of little else than the coming fair, was still describing its manifold attractions, when he caught sight of a little girl wandering aimlessly along the road, and recognised the child he had seen run away from the purple-faced woman in the Market Square. He broke off in the midst of describing the various sorts of roundabouts, and exclaimed, "Hulloa!"
 
"Who is it?" inquired Peter, hearing footsteps.
 
Tom hurriedly explained, watching the child as she approached; she walked slowly, looking sad and dispirited.
 
When she was in a line with the gate he addressed her. "Hi, little girl," he said, "wait a minute, I want to speak to you."
 
She stopped, fixing a pair of inquiring brown eyes on his face. She was about Nellie's age, he thought, and would have been nice-looking if she had not been so pale and thin.
 
"I say, what made you run away from that woman in the Market Square?" he asked, curiously. "I was there and saw you."
 
"I ran away because I was afraid she would beat me," she exclaimed; "I am afraid of her. She's rough, and hits me about—boxes my ears, and—oh, she serves me cruelly bad, that she does!"
 
"What a shame!" exclaimed Tom, indignantly. "She isn't your mother, is she?"
 
"Oh, no, no! She's no relation either! She's Mrs. Sordello—Max Sordello's a lion-trainer, and she's his wife. I'd run away from them altogether if I only knew where to go. I can't tell you how unkindly they treat me, and now—and now—' the child's voice broke with a sob.
 
"Oh, you poor little girl!" cried Peter. "What are you called?"
 
"Grace Lee," she replied.
 
"Haven't you a mother or a father?" inquired Tom.
 
"No," she said, sadly, "not now. Mother died so long ago that I can't remember her, and father—he died last year." Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, but she went on: "He worked for a showman with a steam roundabout; he used to take the money, but he had an accident—fell off the roundabout, and died in hospital. Since then I've lived with the Sordellos. They were kind at first, but now—oh, I'm so frightened!" She paused, shuddering. "And I'm so hungry!" she added.
 
"Hungry?" cried Peter. "Oh, wait I will get you something to eat in a minute!" And he hurried off towards the house.
 
"He's blind," Tom said, nodding at Peter's retreating figure; "you wouldn't guess it, would you?"
 
"No, indeed!" cried the little girl, looking greatly shocked. "Oh, I am so sorry! He is your brother, I suppose?"
 
"Oh, no! His name is Peter Perry, and he's staying here with his aunt. I'm a friend of his—Tom Burford. I say, how is it you are hungry? Haven't you had any breakfast?"
 
"No. The Sordellos said I shouldn't have it till I had promised— promised—oh, I mustn't tell you that! If they found out I'd been telling about them they'd half kill me—yes, they would!"
 
"It's dreadful you should be so afraid of them. Some one ought to interfere to prevent their ill-treating you. I'll speak to my father, and—"
 
"Oh, no, no!" interrupted the child, evidently alarmed at the idea, "please don't! If any one interfered it would make things worse for me, indeed it would!"
 
At that point in the conversation Peter returned, carrying a paper bag containing some slices of bread-and-butter and a couple of pieces of cake. "Here, Grace," he said, kindly, thrusting the bag between the bars of the gate.
 
In another minute Grace was eating hungrily. She had finished the bread-and-butter and one of the pieces of cake, the boys having asked her all sorts of curious questions meanwhile, when, glancing back along the road, she started violently, and let the bag containing the other piece of cake fall to the ground.
 
"What's the matter?" asked Tom. As he spoke he caught sight of a man approaching—a tall, slim, very dark man, with coal-black eyes, a fierce black moustache, and a smiling, though at the same time sinister, expression of countenance.
 
"It's Max Sordello!" gasped Grace, in a tone of mingled fear and dismay; "oh, what shall I do?"
 
She had turned white to the lips, and was all of a tremor. Tom opened the gate, and, followed by Peter, stepped to her side. Max Sordello glanced sharply, but smilingly, from Grace to the boys as he came up to them. "Grace, child, what are you doing here?" he inquired, in a voice which was particularly soft in tone. "You should not have wandered away without your breakfast," he proceeded, glancing at the paper bag on the ground; "I hope you have not been begging?"
 
"No," Peter hastened to assure him, she has not. "But she told us she was hungry, and I got her some bread-and-butter and cake. She has done nothing wrong."
 
"I am glad of that, sir," the man said, civilly. He laid his hand on the little girl's arm as he spoke. "She gives me and my good wife a world of trouble," he continued; "she's not our own child, but an orphan we've adopted out of charity, a wild little thing, not very truthful—"
 
"I never told a lie in my life!" Grace broke in, with a flash of her brown eyes, the indignant colour rising to her cheeks.
 
"That's one, anyway!" retorted Max Sordello. He gripped her hard by the arm as he spoke.
 
"Don't you dare be rough with her!" cried Tom, indignantly.
 
"Rough with her!" echoed the lion-trainer, loosening his grip immediately; "why, me and my wife have always been kindness itself to her, the ungrateful little baggage! Where would she be now if we hadn't taken pity on her? Why, in the workhouse, of course! What has she been saying against us, young gentleman? Whatever it is, it isn't true. Come, speak up, Grace! Haven't we let you share our home and provided for you ever since your poor father died?"
 
"Yes," answered the child. She seemed about to say more, but, meeting Max Sordello's eyes, she stood trembling and silent.
 
"If you have anything to tell against me," said the lion-trainer, still smiling and speaking very softly, "say it before me; if not, go home!"
 
The little girl hesitated a minute, then, without a word, and without so much as a glance at the two boys, turned away and walked slowly along the road in the direction of the town.
 
"A very difficult child to manage," remarked Max Sordello, shaking his head gravely as he looked after her; "my wife and I are doing the best we can for her, but she's that disobedient that often we wish we'd let her go to the workhouse instead of adopting her."
 
"Hasn't she any relations?" inquired Peter.
 
"None that I know of, sir. I didn't know much of her father—he was a gypsy and died as the result of an accident. My wife and I took the child out of pure good-nature."
 
"Why did you keep her without her breakfast?" questioned Tom.
 
"For punishment, sir," Max Sordello answered promptly; "she had disobeyed and defied my wife, and deserved to be punished. She might have had her breakfast if she would have promised to be good, but she wouldn't."
 
The boys were extremely puzzled. In their hearts they believed that Grace had been badly treated, but Max Sordello spoke so plausibly that they began to think it was possible that the little girl might have given trouble, and reflected that it certainly had been very kind of the lion-trainer and his wife to adopt her.
 
"Well, she's not hungry now," Tom said, "and I hope your wife won't be hard on her when she gets home; I know your wife is rough with her—I was in the Market Square when the row was going on between them not an hour ago."
 
"My wife may be a little heavy-handed, but she wouldn't hurt the child," Max Sordello answered; "she's too fond of her to do that." Then, evidently wishing to please the boys, he chirruped to Bounce, who had come out into the road and, having found the paper bag, was now eating the last crumb of its contents.
 
"I wouldn't advise you to interfere with him," said Tom, "he's not too good-tempered with strangers."
 
"No, please don't touch him!" said Peter, apprehensively.
 
Nevertheless, Max Sordello stooped to pat the dog; whereupon Bounce gave an angry snarl, showing every tooth in his head. Tim, who had been engaged in watching a cat in a lilac-tree in the garden, hearing the snarl, came out into the road in haste to ascertain what was going on, and was just in time to see Max Sordello beating a hasty retreat. The two dogs looked at each other; then, with one accord, they rushed after the lion-trainer and barked him out of sight.
 
"They've not touched him, have they?" questioned Peter, anxiously.
 
"Oh, no!" Tom answered, reassuringly; "they've only given him a jolly good fright!"
CHAPTER VIII TOM'S PRESENCE OF MIND

 
 
THE boys did not come across either little Grace Lee or the Sordellos when they visited the Market Square in the afternoon; they did not stay there long, for Tom soon realised that the bustle and confusion attending the arrival and fixing of the shows had a bewildering effect on his companion. After Bounce had fought twice, and Tim had brought trouble upon himself and his master by pouncing on a cat, which belonged to a showman who had a great gift for strong language, and Peter had been nearly trampled upon by a van-horse, they turned their backs on the busy scene, and, before long, reached the country.
 
"Where are we going?" asked Peter by and by. He had dropped Tom's arm which he had been holding, and now, calling Bounce to him, put the dog on the leash. "I'd better lead him," he said, "or he may get away hunting in the woods again."
 
"We're on the road to Hatwell Green," Tom informed him; "let us go on and see if there are any gipsies encamped on the green; I should think some will come for the Fair."
 
"Oh, yes! I'm afraid you left the Market Square on my account, Tom?"
 
"Oh, never mind that! If I had known there would be such a crowd I wouldn't have taken you there. It wasn't a place for the dogs either; there were so many other dogs about, and then that cat!"
 
"The dogs and I have spoilt your afternoon!"
 
"Oh, no, you have not! When I saw how you were getting pushed about, I knew we had made a mistake in going to the Square; but—why, how grave you are looking! You surely don't think I was selfish enough to want to stay?"
 
"No, I don't think that! You're not a bit selfish. You're just the opposite! And you're very, very kind! If you weren't you wouldn't be so patient with me."
 
"Nonsense!" cried Tom, laughing, and colouring at this frank praise. "What a chap you are, Peter! You talk in such a serious, old-fashioned way sometimes—that's because you don't go to school and knock about with other boys, I expect."
 
"I dare say," agreed Peter. "Nellie and your Mother must be arriving at Broadstairs about now, mustn't they?" he asked a moment later.
 
"Yes. Oh, Peter, I do hope Nellie will get quite, quite well at Broadstairs! I know Mother and Father are really dreadfully anxious about her, though they don't say much. I've begun to miss her already. Do you know that when I went home to dinner I quite forgot, for a minute, when I opened the front door, that she wasn't somewhere about; I nearly shouted out 'Nellie!'—meaning, of course, to tell her all about that poor little girl, Grace Lee. Oh, by the way, I've been thinking! You heard Max Sordello say that Grace's father was a gipsy, didn't you? Well, did it strike you that she might be related to Moses Lee?"
 
"No. Do you think she can be? You asked Max Sordello if she had any relations, but he didn't seem to know of any."
 
"He mightn't. Anyway, if we find the Lees at Hatwell Green, I shall speak to them about Grace."
 
But the Lees' yellow and red caravan was not at Hatwell Green when they reached there, and the only living objects to be seen were an aged donkey and half-a-dozen geese. The boys threw themselves down on the ground in the shadow of a hedge to rest, whilst they continued their conversation.
 
"What do you mean to be when you're a man?" Peter asked by and by.
 
Tom sighed. "I'm afraid I shall have to be a clerk like Father," he said, a distinct note of distaste in his voice.
 
"What would you like to be?"
 
"I can't make up my mind. When I was quite a little boy I wanted to be something grand—a knight-errant. Don't laugh!"
 
Peter was not laughing; on the contrary, he was very serious. "A knight-errant?" he said questioningly, his face full of interest.
 
"Yes. Mother used to tell me about knights-errant when I was a little chap. They were knights who travelled about in search of adventures, and they were always very brave men who were kind to people in trouble, and gentle with women and children, and they weren't afraid of anything. Of course there aren't any knights-errant nowadays."
 
"What a pity!" exclaimed Peter regretfully.
 
"Yes, it's a great pity," he went on; "for you would have made a very good knight-errant."
 
"Oh, I don't know about that!" Tom replied modestly, though secretly flattered.
 
"Oh, yes, you would!" Peter persisted, "for you are very brave, you don't seem afraid of anything or any one, and you'd always be kind to people in trouble if you could. You'd give a lot, I know, to be able to help poor little Grace Lee, wouldn't you?"
 
"It makes me furious to think of that great fat Mrs. Sordello, with her ugly purple face, hitting her about and swearing at her!" cried Tom. "Of course I'd help her if I could!"
 
Peter nodded. "Yes," he said, "of course you would. But a great many people wouldn't bother about her at all. Oh, I consider it was splendid of you to speak to Max Sordello in the way you did! 'Don't you dare be rough with her!' you said, and you can't think how awfully stern your voice sounded."
 
"I felt so angry with the brute, Peter; he'd got hold of the poor little thing's arm and was hurting it. The more I think of him the more I feel sure he told us lies this morning, and that Grace spoke the truth."
 
"I told Aunt Harriet about her," said Peter; "but she thought the Sordellos must be very kind people to have adopted her, and that she must be a naughty little girl. What does your father think?"
 
"I haven't told him about her yet; at dinner-time we talked mostly of Nellie—she's the apple of Father's eye, you know."
 
"Oh, I expect so! I wish I had a sister, Tom."
 
"I dare say you do. It must be awfully dull for you, living alone with your father. What sort of a man is he? Anything like my father, I wonder?"
 
"He's a good deal older than your father, I should say. No, I don't think he is in the least like Mr. Burford."
 
"He's very rich, isn't he? I heard Father tell Mother so; he said he was a partner in one of the biggest firms of shipowners in the world. It must be jolly to have a rich father—not that I'd change mine for a millionaire!"
 
There was a note of affectionate pride in Tom's voice as he spoke; Peter heard it, and his dark, rather grave countenance lit up with an understanding smile.
 
"I don't suppose either of us would like to change fathers," he replied in his quaint, old-fashioned way.
 
"Peter," Tom said, after a brief silence, "which would you rather be, rich and blind, or poor and able to see?"
 
"Why, poor and able to see, of course," Peter answered decidedly. He paused momentarily, then continued: "I shouldn't so much mind being blind if it wasn't for Father—if he didn't trouble about it, I mean. I heard him tell some one once that he would make any sacrifice if by doing it he could give me my sight. I'm glad you're going to see my Father, Tom; you know he's coming to Chilaton at the end of the month, and Aunt Harriet says she shall insist on his staying a few days at any rate."
 
"I shall like to see him," Tom admitted frankly; "he's going to take you back with him, isn't he?"
 
"I believe so. He misses me, I expect—not that he sees a great deal of me when I'm at home, because he's away in the city all day, but we generally have a little while together in the evening. Listen! What's that row?"
 
"I don't hear anything."
 
"I do. Your ears are not as sharp as mine. It's far away, but it's coming nearer. I hear dogs barking, and men's voices shouting, and a cow bellowing."
 
"A cow bellowing?" echoed Tom. He listened intently, then sprang to his feet.
 
"Yes, I hear now," he said quickly; "there's something being driven along the road. We'd better get somewhere out of the way." He had no fear of cows or any kind of cattle himself, but he was anxious to put Peter in a place of safety; so he hurried him across the green to a five-barred gate in the hedge. The gate was locked, but the blind boy climbed it easily, and dropped into the meadow on the other side, whilst Tom held Bounce, and Tim dragged himself through the bars.
 
"I must lift Bounce over," Tom said; "he's too big to get between the bars like Tim. Steady, Bounce!"
 
With some difficulty, for Bounce was a good weight, he succeeded in lifting the dog over the gate, Peter receiving him on the other side.
 
"Quick, quick, Tom!" cried Peter nervously; "I believe there's a mad bull coming! Listen how it's bellowing! Oh, here you are! That's right! What a fearful noise! Can you see what's going on?"
 
"Yes! It's not a bull, but a cow, with two sheep-dogs and two drovers after it. How the drovers are yelling! Oh, I say, what a shame! One of the dogs bit the cow on the leg then! Oh! She's going for him with her horns! There, now, the other dog's bitten her! What are they trying to do? Hi, you men, there, call back those dogs of yours and let that poor brute go on quietly, do you hear?"
 
The men heard, and one of them shouted something in reply which the boys did not catch.
 
"I hate to see cattle driven," Tom said; "they get so badly treated, poor things. Those drovers ought to be taken up for driving a cow as fast as that and letting their dogs worry her; it's dreadfully cruel of them. I wonder where they're taking her? She looked terribly wild. They'll never be able to drive her through the town, if that's their intention; but perhaps they mean to put her in a field somewhere on the road. I don't suppose she'd have hurt us, but it's as well to be on the safe side of the gate, isn't it?"
 
"Yes, indeed," agreed Peter, who was looking very concerned. "I hate to think of animals being served badly," he said; "do you think the dogs were injuring the cow, Tom?"
 
"They seemed to be very rough with her, I thought. Which way shall we go home, Peter?"
 
"If we go through the woods and fields I shall have to lead Bounce," Peter answered, "but we'll go which way you like, of course."
 
"Oh, Bounce shan't have his walk spoilt!" Tom said, good-naturedly. "We'll return by the road; then you can let him run."
 
Five minutes later they had turned their backs on Hatwell Green, and were walking towards the town, the two dogs running on ahead. At the first turn in the road Tom remarked that he saw a caravan, and added excitedly that it was a red and yellow one and might be the Lees'.
 
"Is it coming this way?" asked Peter, eagerly.
 
"It's drawn up beside the hedge. Oh, it is the Lees'! I recognise the horse, and—yes, there's Moses himself standing by it! Oh, Peter, listen! The cow is coming back. I understand now—the dogs were trying to turn her! How stupid of me not to think of that before!"
 
"Is there anywhere we can go to get out of her way?" asked Peter.
 
"I'm afraid not, unless you can climb the hedge. Try—I'll help you!"
 
"You'd better look out for yourself, Tom!"
 
"No, no! This way! Come!"
 
The cow, still pursued by the drovers and the sheep-dogs, had rushed past the caravan. Tom succeeded in dragging his companion part way up the hedge, and was hoping the infuriated animal would pass them by, when Bounce and Tim suddenly dashed to meet her, barking. She lowered her head to charge them, but, at that minute, Peter slipped and fell into the hedgerow, thus drawing her attention to him. He did not himself realise to the full the danger of his position; but Tom, of course, did, and took immediate action. Tearing off his coat, he sprang into the road, and, as the cow was making for Peter, flung it, with sure aim, over her face and horns.
CHAPTER IX "UNA AND THE LION"

 
"YOUR being so quick-witted saved him, sir; she'd have gored him to death—or, at any rate, injured him seriously, but for you!"
 
The speaker was Moses Lee, who had left his horse's head and run forward to the assistance of the boys when he had realised the peril of their position. It had taken the cow barely a minute to free her head from Tom's coat, but by that time the gipsy had been at hand, and by cracking his whip had driven her on. Now, cow, sheep-dogs, and drovers were all once more out of sight, and Moses was addressing Tom, who had picked a hazel-stick and was trying to catch Tim in order to chastise him, whilst Peter, who had risen to his feet, was standing, white, trembling, and bewildered, beside the hedge from which he had fallen. Bounce crouched close beside him, conscious that he was in disgrace.
 
"It's no good, sir," Moses continued, as Tim, having allowed his master to come close to him, tucked his tail between his legs and slunk guiltily away; "he's not going to let you catch him—not he! Look at his manner. He knows he's done wrong and has offended you. Poor little beast! He was no more to blame than the other dog. I saw how it was—what with the cow bellowing, and the sheep-dogs barking, and the drovers shouting they both lost their heads for once in a way."
 
"I hope it will be only for once in a way," Tom said, with a menacing gesture at Tim, who, at some dozen yards distance, had paused and was looking back at him. "Yes, that's right, Peter, put Bounce on the leash again. You aren't hurt, are you?"
 
"Oh, no!" Peter answered. "It was nothing of a fall, really."
 
"Thank goodness the cow didn't touch you!" cried Tom, fervently. "It was a near shave she didn't though."
 
"A very near shave," agreed the gipsy, seriously.
 
"Please tell me exactly what happened," said Peter, turning his sightless eyes upon Moses.
 
The man explained, again praising Tom for his quick-wittedness, by which he had been greatly struck.
 
When he had finished his tale Peter exclaimed, "Oh, Tom, how can I thank you? Really, then, you saved me from being gored by the cow! Oh, how brave you are!"
 
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" said Tom, hastily. "Why, Peter, what's the matter. Don't look so shocked. It's all over—the danger, I mean. Why, you're shaking like a leaf. Don't be so silly. We'd better go on. Where's my coat?"
 
"Here, sir," replied the gipsy, picking it up from the ground; "but I don't think you can wear it—it's torn right through the back where the cow's horn went through it."
 
"Never mind. I'll carry it, if I can't wear it. Fortunately, it's an old one, so if it can't be mended there's not much harm done. Where's that wicked Tim? Oh, gone on to your caravan, I see, and Zingra's got hold of him! Are you going to stop at Hatwell Green?"
 
"Yes, sir; we've come back for the Fair."
 
"Oh, then, I shall see you again! Come along, Peter. I suppose there's no chance of that cow coming back?"
 
"Not in the least, I should say, sir," the gipsy answered. "The drovers told me she gave them the slip at the cross-roads, but depend upon it they'll take good care she doesn't do that again."
 
Both boys looked relieved on hearing this. They stopped at the caravan to exchange greetings with Mrs. Lee and Zingra, but Tom hurried Peter on when the gipsy woman, who had been at the back of the caravan, and consequently had not witnessed the scene with the cow, began to ask questions about the torn coat he was carrying.
 
"You're coming to tea with Aunt Harriet and me, aren't you?" asked Peter, when, out of sight of the caravan, Tom permitted him to slacken speed.
 
"I was," Tom answered. "Miss Perry asked me, as you know, and Father said I might, but I can't now—I must go straight home."
 
"Oh, why?"
 
"I can't have tea with your aunt wearing no coat."
 
"Oh, but I'll lend you one of mine! You mustn't go home! You won't object to wear one of my coats, will you? No? Oh, then, that's all right. Is Tim following us?"
 
"Yes—little beast!"
 
"Do forgive him now, Tom! Call him up to you, and make friends with him."
 
Tom laughed and obeyed. He assured Tim he wouldn't hurt him, whereupon the little dog bounded up to him, and was petted and forgiven. After that Bounce was forgiven, too.
 
Peter would have lent Tom the very best coat he possessed, but Tom declined it, and insisted on borrowing an old one, in which, he declared, he would be far more comfortable. It fitted him very well, for he and the blind boy were much of a size, so that Miss Perry did not notice it was her nephew's till Peter drew her attention to it, and explained what had happened. She said little then, but her look was eloquent of the deepest gratitude as it rested on her young visitor, and when, a short while after tea, Mr. Burford called for his son, she drew him apart from the boys and talked to him earnestly for a long while.
 
"What was Miss Perry saying to you, Father?" Tom inquired, with his customary curiosity as, later, he and Mr. Burford walked home together. "Was it about our adventure this afternoon?"
 
Mr. Burford assented. "She wishes to give you a new coat," he replied, smiling. "I said 'No' at first, but my refusal seemed to hurt her, so I felt obliged to say 'Yes.' She considers you behaved very pluckily this afternoon, Tom, and I agree with her. I am pleased my boy showed true grit—kept his head and did not run away."
 
"I never thought of running away," Tom answered, colouring; "but, oh, I was awfully, awfully frightened! Peter is so helpless in his blindness, you know! It was horrible to see the cow make for him! I hadn't time to say even a little prayer, but it was in my heart, I think, and I just tore off my coat—and, oh, wasn't I thankful I made such a good shot and threw it right over the cow's head! Then Moses Lee came up with his whip and drove the cow on. Oh, dear me, how stupid I've been! I forgot to speak to the gipsies about little Grace Lee!"
 
"Who is little Grace Lee?" inquired Mr. Burford.
 
Tom explained, telling all he knew concerning the child and the Sordellos. "And it crossed my mind that she might be related to Moses Lee," he said in conclusion; "anyway, there'd be no harm in asking him; I shall be sure to see him again."
 
"You say you heard the woman—this Mrs. Sordello—strike the little girl, and use very bad language?" said Mr. Burford, interested and concerned.
 
"Yes, Father, I did. She called her 'a white-faced little coward,' and swore at her dreadfully; then she struck her—any one outside the caravan could have heard, but no one was there except me."
 
"What had the little girl done to anger Mrs. Sordello? You have not found out that?"
 
"No, Father; that is, Max Sordello said she had disobeyed and defied his wife, but I believe he was telling lies!"
 
Mr. Burford looked doubtful. "You cannot prove that," he said. "If he spoke the truth, the child deserved punishment, I dare say, though not such harsh treatment as she received—nothing would justify that. If a policeman had been in your position he would no doubt have interfered and summoned the woman for using bad language, but if you told a policeman all you've told me you couldn't prove it, and—well, in short, you can't do anything in the matter, my boy."
 
"It's dreadful to think such a little girl should be treated so badly!" Tom cried in indignant accents, "a little girl no bigger than our Nellie! I am sure Max Sordello and his wife are cruel to her! I believe they are wicked people! Oh, Father, do wait a minute and see what is being pasted on that hoarding; I believe it's a bill about the menagerie!"
 
They had reached a large hoarding surrounding an unfinished building, upon which a bill-sticker was busily at work. He was standing on a short ladder, and glanced down with a smile as Tom and Mr. Burford stopped to watch him, revealing a good-natured, rubicund face.
 
"This is something in your line, I guess, young gentleman," he remarked, addressing Tom, whilst he indicated a flaring poster on which was represented a lion jumping through a hoop. "All boys love a wild-beast show, I know," he continued, "and you may take my word for it that 'Dumbell's World-famed Menagerie' is well worth seeing."
 
"You have seen it, then, I suppose?" said Mr. Burford.
 
The bill-sticker nodded assent. "At Birmingham last year," he replied; "this is the first time it's been here. It's the best show of wild animals on tour. The chief attraction, of course, is the performing lions—as gentle as lambs, or—" nodding his head meaningly— "whipped curs; their trainer, Max Sordello, has them well in hand, anyway. They say he trains them by kindness, but who's to know, eh?"
 
He pasted on another bill, one representing a lion with a little girl clad in a scarlet frock and wearing a wreath of flowers standing beside him, her arms around his neck, her face hidden in his tawny mane, and then surveyed it gravely. "I shouldn't like my little gell to do that," he said, "no, not for a thousand pounds! See what's printed under that bill? 'Una and the lion.'"
 
"Is the little girl really called Una?" asked Tom eagerly.
 
"Maybe, sir," answered the bill-sticker, "I don't know. She's Max Sordello's child, I'm given to understand; she's been appearing in public with the lions for months, but never yet with Hero—that lion there; they say he's forest-bred. She's to make her first appearance with him next week, on Monday at the Fair, so we shall all have an opportunity of seeing her."
 
Tom was staring hard at the picture of the little girl in the scarlet frock; there was a strong suspicion in his mind that this "Una," who was considered to be the lion-trainer's child, was actually Grace Lee, and when, a few minutes later, he moved on with his father, he told him what he thought.
 
 
"Yes, very likely you're right," agreed Mr. Burford; "I think so myself."
 
"What a plucky little thing she must be!" cried Tom, excitedly. "You'll let me go and see her performance with the lions on Monday, won't you, Father?"
 
"I hardly know," Mr. Burford answered hesitatingly; "I don't altogether approve of that sort of entertainment, because I don't believe that lions can be trained by kindness, especially forest-bred animals. And it's terrible to think that a child's life should be risked to amuse the public and for gain; it never ought to be allowed. I begin to see, Tom, that those Sordellos may have been prompted by a selfish motive when they adopted that little orphan— no doubt she adds considerably to the lion-trainer's earnings."
 
"Yes, of course," Tom agreed. His face had become very thoughtful and grave. "Poor little girl," he said, pityingly; "I wonder if she is afraid of the lions? I know Nellie would be in her place."
 
Then the conversation turned upon Nellie, and in talking of his dearly loved sister Tom forgot every one else for the time. Later his thoughts reverted to Grace Lee, and he went to bed with the determination to visit Hatwell Green on the morrow, and tell the gipsies all about her.
 
"One thing is quite certain," he said to himself, "and that is that she's very miserable. I never saw any little girl with such an unhappy face before. And she seemed so frightened! I wonder what she was afraid of? I shall try to find out!"
CHAPTER X TOM MEETS THE DWARF

 
 
IT was on a Thursday that Mrs. Burford and Nellie went to Broadstairs, and the evening of the following day saw the former at home again. Nellie had been in very low spirits when she had left her, Mrs. Burford was obliged to admit, but the little girl had promised to try to be happy and was to be trusted to keep her word.
 
"When she makes friends amongst the other children and begins to get stronger I expect she'll settle down comfortably and not fret," she said hopefully; "as I told her, the time will soon slip by to Christmas, and then—oh, think what a blessing it will be if she returns to us well and strong!"
 
"Yes, won't it?" said Tom. He had had supper with his parents, and now was alone with his mother, his father having left the house to post a letter. "And won't we have a jollification when she comes home!" he cried; adding, "Oh, Mother, I must tell you all my experiences of yesterday! Such exciting experiences they were!"
 
"It seems to me that you're always having exciting experiences, my dear," smiled Mrs. Burford. "Well, I'm ready to hear them."
 
She listened in silence whilst Tom spoke of his and Peter's adventure with the cow, the colour fading from her cheeks; noticing which sign of agitation the boy hastened to tell her all about Grace Lee and the Sordellos, and thus diverted her thoughts into another channel.
 
"You'll have to write all this to Nellie, Mother," he said, in conclusion, "for I'm sure I couldn't explain it properly, and she'll be so interested, you know. Besides, I promised she should hear everything that went on at home whilst she was away. I quite meant to go to Hatwell Green to-day, but it's rained so heavily that I've had to put off going till to-morrow."
 
"I don't understand why you are so anxious to find out whether or not this little show-girl is related to the gipsies," said Mrs. Burford, looking rather mystified.
 
"Because Moses Lee is a very kind man, and I believe if he knew a relation of his was being served badly—of course I should tell him— that he'd interfere," Tom promptly replied.
 
"I see. Well, it can do no harm your mentioning the child to him."
 
"That's what I think! Oh, I do hope the weather will clear by to-morrow!"
 
Tom had his wish, for the following morning gave promise of a perfect day. The rain clouds had all dispersed during the night, so that the sun rose in a sky of cloudless blue. Directly after breakfast Tom set out, with Tim, to walk to Hatwell Green; his most direct way out of the town was to pass through the Market Square, and ten minutes after he had left home found him there, lingering to look about him.
 
It was very quiet in the Square this morning. The vans belonging to the menagerie were still covered; but, as Tom strolled around them, he heard various sounds from within, the chattering of monkeys, and the low growls of tigers and lions. Of course, he could not see any of the wild animals, he had not expected that he would; but, on turning his back on the menagerie his attention was attracted by the quaint little figure of a man seated on the top step at the back of a bright green caravan, reading a newspaper, and his eyes sparkled with interest and excitement. "A dwarf!" he exclaimed, under his breath, and stopped to look at him. The dwarf was an elderly man. His big head was quite bald, and his large, rather flat face was covered with wrinkles; he had a snub nose, and an extraordinarily wide mouth. For several minutes he did not notice Tom, so that the boy was able to have a long, steady look at him, during which he decided that he was the ugliest dwarf he had ever seen; but, on turning his newspaper, the dwarf suddenly caught sight of him, and speaking through his nose, inquired: "Hulloa, youngster, what are you doing here?"
 
"Nothing," answered Tom, confused at being caught staring: "that is, I was only looking at you. I beg your pardon."
 
"A cat may look at a king," quoted the little man, chuckling; "but a king mayn't look at me—without paying; so you may consider yourself privileged."
 
"Yes, certainly," agreed Tom, still more confused. "I've no right here, and I'll go at once, and not tell anyone what you're like, or—"
 
"Oh, stop a minute!" interrupted the dwarf. "You needn't hurry—now you've seen me. That dog yours?" He flicked his thumb and forefinger at 'rim, who jumped up the steps of the caravan and allowed himself to be patted.
 
"Yes, he's mine," Tom answered; "or, I should say, he belongs to all of us; he's a sort of family dog. I say, you're fond of dogs, aren't you? Tim wouldn't make friends with you if you weren't."
 
The dwarf smiled, whilst his eyes—bright, dark eyes they were— twinkled. All his wrinkles were kindly ones, Tom noticed, and his smile was eloquent of good humour. "I'm fond of dogs and children," he answered, "more especially of dogs, for their instinct always teaches them to trust me. With children it's different; they're afraid of dwarfs, most of 'em."
 
"You weren't here last year, were you?" questioned Tom. "If so, I didn't see you, and I saw nearly all the shows. There was a dwarf here, but—"
 
"Oh, I know all about him," broke in the little man, in a disparaging tone; "he's an inch and a half taller than I am. He won't come this year, you'll find; it would be no good if he did, with me to compete against. I'm the smallest dwarf in Europe—I should beat Tom Thumb if he was living now, for I'm an eighth of an inch less in height than he used to be."
 
"Really?" said Tom, politely, though secretly much amused.
 
"Yes, really," added the dwarf. "I'm Tiny Jim; in private life, James Augustus Rumbelow. My wife's a fat lady. We're travelling with Dumbell's menagerie, but we're a separate show—you have to pay extra to see us."
 
Tom made no response to this; he was considering whether or not he should speak to Tiny Jim about little Grace Lee.
 
"Of course you'll come and see 'Una and the Lion,'" the dwarf continued; "that'll be the great draw, I expect. I hope—" He paused, sighed, then added, more as if speaking to himself than to Tom: "They say there's no need to be nervous, and every precaution will be made for the child's safety—yes, yes, it'll be all right, I know!" He folded his newspaper as he spoke, and rose to his feet, his head scarcely reaching to the handle of the caravan door. Then a woman's voice from within the caravan was heard.
 
"James Augustus Rumbelow," it said, "you ought to know better than to stay out there gossiping with one of the public. Come in to breakfast."
 
"All right, my dear, coming!" answered Tiny Jim; and, having bestowed upon Tom a nod of farewell, he entered the caravan, and closed the door.
 
After that Tom moved away, and was soon out of the town. Arrived at Hatwell Green he found, to his great disappointment, that Moses had left his wife and child with the caravan, and gone to a horse-fair, which was being held that day in a town some ten miles distant.
 
"He's certain not to be back till late to-night, anyway," said Mrs. Lee, regarding the boy curiously, for she naturally wondered what he wanted with her husband; and perhaps not till to-morrow. He said he might stop the night with some relatives.
 
"His relatives?" inquired Tom, eagerly.
 
"No," the woman replied, surprised at the question. "Mine."
 
"Because I know a little girl called Grace Lee," said Tom; "and I've been thinking that she might be related to your husband. Her father, who's dead, was a gipsy. He used to travel with a roundabout, and—oh, I'm afraid you don't know anything about him!"
 
"No, sir," answered Mrs. Lee, rather doubtfully. "I suppose he couldn't have been my husband's brother who went to Canada some twelve years ago, could he? He was always a rolling stone, and he might have come back to England without letting Moses know. Where is the little girl you speak of living?"
 
Tom explained with whom Grace made her home, and that she was very miserable with the Sordellos; and, he believed, harshly and cruelly treated.
 
"Poor little maid!" exclaimed the gipsy woman, sympathetically. "I'll tell Moses what you say, and he shall make inquiries at the Fair on Monday, and find out all he can about the child."
 
With that promise Tom was obliged to be satisfied. He had come to Hatwell Green through the meadows, and he returned the same way, lingering on the banks of the stream which flowed through the meadows to watch the trout jump, and to allow Tim to hunt field-mice, one of the little dog's favourite pastimes, so that it was past noon before he reached the town. Nevertheless, he loitered once more in the Market Square, which presented a much busier appearance now, for several fresh shows had arrived, and a shooting gallery was in course of erection. Hoping he might see the dwarf again, Tom hovered around the green caravan for some minutes; then, seeing no one, strolled on to the menagerie vans. Little escaped his observation, and by and by, under one of the vans, half hidden by a bundle of straw, he caught sight of a crouching figure—the figure of Tiny Jim. The little man appeared to be listening intently, and as Tom stopped to watch him, he heard sounds within the van, the cracking of a whip, and the growls of some animal. "I say, what's going on in there?" the boy inquired of a big man in a plaid suit of clothes, who was leaning against the van.
 
"What's that to do with you?" snapped the man, with a scowl.
 
"Nothing," said Tom, adding, "you have lost something."
 
"What?" questioned the man. He moved, and looked about him on the ground as he spoke.
 
"Your manners," Tom replied, quietly, his face one broad smile of amusement.
 
The man rapped out an angry word; then, suddenly catching sight of the dwarf's crouching figure, his face turned purple with passion. "What are you doing there, you rat?" he demanded, in a hoarse whisper, addressing Tiny Jim. "Come out this minute! Do you hear? Come out!" He knelt down as he spoke, and, catching the dwarf by the collar, pulled him with a jerk from beneath the van; then, rising, shook him roughly, till the poor little man's teeth actually chattered in his head.
 
"Oh, Mr. Dumbell, don't, sir, don't!" cried Tiny Jim. "I was doing no harm; and, indeed, I don't think any one saw me!"
 
"That boy did!" declared Mr. Dumbell, pointing at Tom. "It's no good his denying it, for I shouldn't believe him!"
 
"I've no intention of denying it!" Tom replied, indignantly. "Do you think I would tell you a falsehood? I did see him."
 
"And of course others have," said Mr. Dumbell, "which means he's lost me several shillings maybe this morning. Folk won't want to pay to see him at the Fair if they've seen him beforehand, not they! Get along home with you!" He dropped his hold of the dwarf, who, pale and trembling, slunk away.
 
"I hope he doesn't think I pointed him out to you," Tom said, addressing Mr. Dumbell. "Why were you so rough? It was cruel to shake him as you did, poor little fellow!"
 
"I lost my temper," admitted Mr. Dumbell. "Poor little fellow, indeed! He's the most interfering, aggravating dwarf I ever had to do with!"
 
He took up his former position against the van as he spoke, and there Tom left him. The boy, after a few minutes' consideration, returned to the green caravan, upon the closed door of which he rapped sharply.
 
"Well?" said the dwarf's voice within.
 
"Please open the door a minute," requested Tom. "I've something to say to you."
 
Tiny Jim opened the door about a foot, and looked out. "What do you want?" he demanded.
 
"Only to tell you that I didn't point you out to Mr. Dumbell," Tom said, earnestly. "I was afraid you might think I had. You believe me, don't you?"
 
"Why, yes, certainly!" replied Tiny Jim, his broad face brightening. It clouded again a moment later, as he continued: "I ought not to have been there, but the lion-trainer's putting the lions through their performance, and I wanted to hear what was going on—hulloa!"
 
A purple-faced woman, whom Tom immediately recognised as Mrs. Sordello, had rushed up to the caravan, and was demanding to be told what the dwarf had done with "the child."
 
"I haven't seen her to-day," Tiny Jim answered. "You are talking of Grace, I suppose?"
 
The woman assented. "You're not hiding her?" she asked. "No? Then, what can have become of her? She knows Max wants her this morning. I'll give her something to remember by and by! I'll—"
 
She broke off abruptly, for the dwarf had shut the caravan door in her face, and, flinging up her head with an indignant gesture, she moved away. She had taken no notice whatever of Tom, who, finding Tiny Jim evidently had no intention of reappearing, now went home. "That Mrs. Sordello is a wicked, cruel woman," he declared, after he had told his morning's experiences to his mother; "you may depend upon it that poor little girl has run away."
 
 
 
CHAPTER XI THE KNIGHT-ERRANT

 
 
THE Saturday before the show at Chilaton, which had dawned so promisingly, became overcast as the day wore on. In the afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Burford went by train to a neighbouring town to spend a few hours with some friends, whilst Tom betook himself to Halcyon Villa, where, to his disappointment, he found that Peter had gone for a drive with his aunt, and that the time of their return was uncertain.
 
"Never mind, Tim," he said, as he and his little dog turned away from the front door, "we'll go for a tramp by ourselves—to Bellman Glen. I dare say it won't rain, although it looks so cloudy."
 
Accordingly they started for Bellman Glen, a charming spot much patronised by picnickers; it was about three miles distant from Chilaton. At dinner-time Mr. Burford had told Tom that he did not wish him to loiter about in the Market Square, otherwise the boy would doubtless have whiled away the afternoon there.
 
Both Tom and Tim enjoyed the walk, more especially the latter, who hunted the fields on either side of the road unreproved. Their way took them through a village, where Tom expended threepence, all the money in his possession, in the purchase of halfpenny buns which, on arriving at Bellman Glen, he shared with Tim, who, from the time he had purchased them, had kept close to his side.
 
"There, you greedy little beast!" Tom exclaimed laughingly, as he presented his companion with the last piece of the last bun, "that's all. You've had quite as much as I have, if not more."
 
Satisfied now, Tim stretched himself out on the smooth, velvety turf near the tree against the trunk of which Tom was sitting, and promptly went to sleep.
 
"The little beggar's tired," Tom said to himself; "well, we can rest a bit. It's awfully hot considering there's no sun. I think it must be thunder weather. I'm tired myself."
 
But he was a boy who never could be still very long, and, in less than ten minutes after the buns had been finished, he rose and set off with Tim on the return journey. As they emerged from the glen into the road he noticed a wall of black clouds in the west; overhead the sky was a leaden grey.
 
"I doubt if we get back dry, Tim," he remarked, "anyway we'd better hurry. I wonder what time it is. I'll ask at the village."
 
He did so, and found that it was nearly six o'clock, later than he had imagined. He was anxious to reach home before his parents, and was doubtful now whether he would; however, they would not worry about him, he reflected, but would imagine him at Halcyon Villa.
 
"We're going to have it now!" he exclaimed, as, half a mile beyond the village, he felt a drop of rain on his face, then another, and another. "I wonder if there's anywhere we could get shelter? I dare say it's only going to be a thunder shower. Oh, I know! There's an old lime-kiln over there! Come, Tim!"
 
The boy and dog left the high road, and tore across a meadow at the far end of which, adjoining a wood, they found shelter in a disused, ivy-covered lime-kiln. The rain was falling fast now, and thunder was rumbling in the distance.
 
"This is a dismal hole sure enough," Tom thought, "but it would be silly to get drenched if it's going to clear directly. Why, there's some one else here! A little girl! Oh, I do believe it's Grace Lee!"
 
Yes, seated on the ground, her head resting-against the stone wall of the kiln, her eyes closed, her dark hair half hiding her face, was the little runaway show-girl. Peering at her in the dim light, Tom saw that she was fast asleep. Whilst he hesitated to disturb her, Tim, who had been standing at her side, wagging his tail, suddenly gave a spring into her lap, and she awoke with a start, and a cry which was almost a shriek. The next minute, however, her arms, were around Tim, and she was hugging and kissing him.
 
"Oh, you dear little dog!" she exclaimed; "I know you wouldn't hurt me, you darling, but, oh, you did frighten me! I thought—thought—" She broke off, shuddering, and looked up with a world of pathos in her dark eyes at Tom. "Oh, don't believe I'm so wicked as Max Sordello made out to you," she said pleadingly; "but I'm afraid you will, because I've run away."
 
"I don't believe you're wicked at all," Tom declared stoutly, "nor does Peter Perry. We wish we could help you."
 
"How kind!" said the child. Her eyes filled with tears, and her lips quivered. "I can't go back," she said. "I won't! I'd rather stay here and die! It would be better to die here than to be killed by Hero."
 
"Hero?" echoed Tom. "Oh, the lion! Then you're afraid of him?"
 
"Horribly, horribly afraid of him! I haven't minded so much going into the cages with the other lions—they're not forest-bred, and they're too afraid of Max's whip to dare to touch me; but Hero—oh, he's different! At first when they told me I was to perform with him I said, 'No, no, no!' but Mrs. Sordello said she'd half kill me if I wouldn't promise to do as Max told me, and—"
 
"Was that the meaning of the row I heard between you?" interrupted Tom, excitedly. "Oh," he cried, as the little girl nodded assent, "how, cruel, how cruel!"
 
"I had to give in," Grace told him; "it wasn't any good saying 'no.' I have had two rehearsals with Hero, and I was to have had another this morning, but directly after breakfast I slipped away out of the town; then I wandered about in the fields and woods till I was so tired I couldn't go farther, and I crept in here and lay down."
 
"How long have you been here, I wonder?"
 
"I don't know. I've been asleep. When your little dog woke me, I thought for a minute that Hero had turned on me. You won't tell any one you've seen me here, will you? This is a fine hiding-place."
 
"But you can't stay here altogether, Grace."
 
The child pushed her heavy hair back from her face, and sighed. "My head aches dreadfully," she said in a plaintive tone; "it's ached for days, and it makes me feel so stupid. No, I can't stay here altogether; if I did, Max might find me. By and by I shall go on."
 
"But where are you going?"
 
"I don't know."
 
"And it's raining. Listen! If you were out in weather like this, you'd be wet to the skin in a few minutes. Good gracious!"
 
A vivid flash of forked lightning had lit up the kiln momentarily; it was followed immediately by a deafening peal of thunder, and the little girl cowered against the wall, hiding her eyes.
 
"I came here for shelter from the rain," Tom explained; "but I didn't guess a storm was so near. It seems right overhead, doesn't it? Don't be frightened, Grace; I don't think we shall come to any harm here. Look at Tim! Isn't he funny? He can never understand what thunder is."
 
Grace uncovered her eyes and looked at the little dog, who had left her lap and was standing beside Tom, his head cocked on one side, listening. At every flash of lightning he glanced up into his master's face, with a look which asked as plainly as words, "Is it all right?" and when Tom answered, "Yes, it's all right, Tim," appeared quite satisfied.
 
"How sharp he is!" the little girl said, smiling. "I don't suppose you'd part with him for anything, would you?"
 
"Money wouldn't buy him," Tom replied; "no, not any amount of money."
 
There was a long pause in the conversation after this, during which the lightning flashed and the thunder roared, and Tom considered Grace's situation very seriously. She seemed to have made no plans, and he saw that she was nearly done up. He wondered if the Sordellos were searching for her; if so, there was every probability that they would find her, and his kind heart swelled with pity as he thought of her terror of Hero and the heartlessness of those who, for the sake of gain, meant to make a public exhibition of her with the lion, against her will.
 
"What a miserable life you must have had travelling about with that menagerie!" he remarked by and by. "I saw Mr. Dumbell this morning, and spoke to him. I call him a very rough, ill-mannered man." And forthwith he gave her an account of the scene between Mr. Dumbell and Tiny Jim, to which she listened with a pained expression on her pale little countenance.
 
"Oh, poor Mr. Rumbelow!" she sighed, when he had finished speaking. "He was anxious about me: that was why he was under the van, listening. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rumbelow have always been very, very kind to me, and now, perhaps, I shall never see them again."
 
"You don't think of going back, Grace?"
 
"No, no, no! As soon as the rain stops I must go on."
 
"It is stopping. The storm is passing, but it will soon be night. The evenings are growing very short now."
 
"Never mind. I'll walk on till I come to a village or town, and sleep on a doorstep. I'll be careful a policeman doesn't find me. In the morning I'll beg a little food. I must do without it till then. I was very hungry at dinner-time, but I found some blackberries and ate them, and—"
 
"Haven't you had any proper food since breakfast?" Tom interposed in a tone of dismay. "No? Oh, this is dreadful—dreadful!"
 
The sympathy in his voice brought tears to Grace's eyes again, and a sob of self-pity broke from her lips. "Oh, why did Father die and leave me?" she wailed. "Oh, if only I'd some one to go to! Perhaps, if I could find my uncle, he'd be kind to me."
 
"What uncle?" asked Tom, sharply.
 
"Father's brother. I've never seen him, but Father used to speak of him sometimes. He was always hoping to run against him somewhere, but he never did."
 
"What is his name?"
 
"Moses—Moses Lee."
 
"Moses Lee!" Tom almost shouted the name in his delight. "Why, Grace, I can take you to him," he said. "That is, I can take you to his caravan, and his wife will look after you."
 
"You know my Uncle Moses?" questioned Grace, wonderingly.
 
"Yes! And he's a jolly, kind fellow. He has a wife and a little daughter—younger than you—called Zingra. They've a beautiful yellow and red caravan, and it's at Hatwell Green now. Come, I'll take you to Mrs. Lee. She'll look after you, and when she hears about Hero, I know that, whatever happens, she won't let the Sordellos get hold of you again."
 
"Where is Hatwell Green?" Grace asked, rising with some difficulty, for her limbs were stiff and aching. An eager light was shining in her dark eyes.
 
"About a mile from here. Oh, good! The rain's stopped altogether. We have to cross the field to reach the road."
 
This they did, getting themselves wet nearly to the knees, for the meadow had become a swamp with the heavy rain, and the grass was very long. Grace was shivering and complaining of being cold before they had gone far on the road.
 
"Is it much farther?" she asked, when they had walked about half a mile.
 
"A good bit farther," Tom was obliged to admit.
 
"Then I'm afraid it's no good: I can't get there," the little girl said in a tone of despair. "You'd better go home and leave me."
 
"Not likely! To be found by the Sordellos! Here, take hold of my hand. You nearly fell then."
 
Grace obeyed, and for a few minutes the pair walked on in silence. But the little girl's footsteps lagged, and by and by, with a burst of tears, she came to a full stop.
 
"I can't—I can't go on!" she sobbed, and dropping Tom's hand, she sank down on the muddy road. "I feel so funny, so—" Her voice trailed off indistinctly.
 
"Oh, dear me whatever can I do?" exclaimed Tom, in dire dismay. "I don't like to leave you, but I suppose I must. I'd better hurry on to Hatwell Green and fetch Mrs. Lee. Do you hear, Grace? Why don't you speak?"
 
Grace did not answer, for the simple reason that she had fainted from exhaustion. She lay, a miserable little heap of humanity, right in the middle of the road, and Tom was at his wits' end how to act. To add to the difficulties of his position, it had commenced to rain again.
 
"I can't let her lie here," he reflected. "I wonder if she's very heavy."
 
He tried to lift her, but, failing in the attempt, dragged her into the hedgerow where the hedge would shelter her a little from the rain. Having done that, he was about to start running for Hatwell Green, when the sound of a horse galloping along the road fell on his ears, and he waited. Nearer and nearer came the horse, urged on by a voice which struck familiarly on the listener's ears.
 
"It's Moses Lee!" Tom exclaimed joyfully. "Hi, stop!" he shouted; "stop!"
 
CHAPTER XII THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS

 
 
"OH, Tom, how wonderful—wonderful that you should have found her, and that Moses Lee should have come along just at the very minute he was wanted; and, oh, do go on and tell me what happened next!"
 
It was the afternoon of the first day of the Fair, and the scene was the garden at Halcyon Villa, where, in the shadow of an arbutus tree, Tom Burford and Peter Perry sat on a seat talking, and regaling themselves with fairing in the shape of sweets and ginger-bread nuts which the former had brought with him. This was the first time they had met since Tom's experiences on Saturday, to an account of which Peter had been listening with the liveliest interest. Tom had come to a dramatic pause after having told how he had stopped Moses Lee.
 
"Well," he continued, in answer to his companion's eager request for further information, "of course Moses Lee was tremendously surprised when he pulled up, and I made him understand what a fix I was in; but he didn't say much—only, 'We'd best take the little maid to my missus.' Then he got off his horse and let me ride it, and he picked Grace up and carried her on to Hatwell Green, and gave her to his wife to look after. Of course I explained everything as well as I could, and as soon as I'd done that I went home. Fortunately I got there before Mother and Father returned, after all, and weren't they amazed when they heard all that had happened! Oh, Peter, wasn't it shockingly wicked of those Sordellos to make Grace go into the cage with Hero! It must have been frightfully dangerous, you know!"
 
"Frightfully! But she'll never have to do it again now, will she?" Peter inquired anxiously.
 
"Never! That's settled. Moses Lee has been to see the Sordellos, and has told them they shall never have charge of Grace again. They were awfully abusive to him, and at first declared that she wasn't his brother's child. But she is. There are some people travelling with the menagerie (a Mr. and Mrs. Rumbelow, a dwarf and his wife—a fat lady) who can prove it. They knew Grace's father and her mother, too. Well, when the Sordellos found that that lie did them no good, they offered Moses money to get Grace back, but he told them 'no,' and when they found he meant it there was a most dreadful row. It's not wonderful that the Sordellos are furiously angry, because if Grace doesn't appear as 'Una,' it will be a great loss to them. Mr. Dumbell will cut Max's pay, it seems. But Grace will never be 'Una' again."
 
"Oh, what a good thing! What will become of her, Tom?"
 
"The Lees mean to keep her. They say they'll treat her as though she was their own child. Father and I went to Hatwell Green after church yesterday morning to inquire for Grace, and she was ever so much better. It was being so hungry and tired that had made her ill the day before. Father said he could see a distinct likeness between her and Zingra. They're cousins, you know."
 
"Yes, of course. How strange that Moses should not have known he had a niece until you told him!"
 
"He didn't know his brother was dead either—he was dreadfully cut up, poor chap, when he heard that. The fact is that neither he nor his brother ever learnt to write, so they couldn't either of them know anything about the other. It's very seldom gipsies can write or read. Mrs. Lee can do both though, and she told Father that during the winter, which the Lees mean to spend at Birmingham, she would send Grace to school regularly. 'I'll do my best for her in every way, sir,' she said, and I'm sure she meant it."
 
"Have you been to see the lions yet, Tom?" Peter inquired.
 
"No," Tom answered, "but Father's going to take me to-night if all's well; I particularly want to see Hero, and, if you like, I'll come again to-morrow afternoon, and tell you about him."
 
"Oh, please do! And, please, take this half-crown and buy me some fairing. You don't mind?"
 
"Not in the least. What sort of fairing do you want, and how much?"
 
"A pound of mixed sweets, please, with plenty of almond comfits in them."
 
The following afternoon found the boys in the same position, munching almond comfits whilst they talked. Tom had enumerated all the animals he had seen in the menagerie, and was now speaking of the lions.
 
"They were wonderfully trained," he said, "and did everything Max Sordello ordered them, but I wasn't sorry when the performance was over. Hero had a cage to himself, and Max Sordello didn't go in with him at all. I heard some one ask him why he didn't and where 'Una' was, and a lot of people grumbled. After we'd finished with the wild beasts we saw Tiny Jim and his wife. Tiny Jim was in evening dress with diamond studs—I suppose they couldn't have been real diamonds though—in his shirt, and a red rose in his buttonhole; and he had a packet of photographs, of himself and his wife taken together, in his hand, and sold copies of them at threepence each—Father bought one for me, and I'm going to keep it to show Nellie. The fat lady was immense! She wore a bright blue silk gown, and rows of pearls round her neck, and a bright blue bow in her hair—such frizzy, yellow hair it is! I wish you'd been there to see her and Tiny Jim—oh, I'd forgotten, that you couldn't have seen them!"
 
"Never mind," said Peter, "I like hearing all about them from you. They must be very nice people to have been so kind to poor little Grace Lee: they will be sorry not to see her again."
 
"Yes, but glad her uncle has got her, I expect. Oh, by the way, Peter, Father's holidays begin to-morrow; he's going to take me for some outings, and he hopes Miss Perry will let you come too."
 
"Oh, how jolly! I'm going to be here till about the twentieth of the month, I think. Your school reopens about then, doesn't it?"
 
"On the nineteenth. So we've a clear fortnight together to look forward to. We'll have a splendid time with Father."
 
"I should have thought your Father would have gone away for his holidays, Tom."
 
"Well, as a rule, he takes us all to the seaside in August, but this year he hasn't been able to spare the money. I was dreadfully disappointed when I heard we couldn't go as usual, but since I've known you I haven't minded."
 
Peter coloured with pleasure on hearing this. He had formed a very high opinion of Tom, and it was a keen pleasure to him to know that their friendship meant a great deal to Tom as well as to himself.
 
"I had a letter from Nellie this morning," Tom proceeded presently; "I've brought it to read to you if you'd care to hear it?"
 
"Oh, indeed I should!"
 
"Some one must have helped her to write it, because it's quite properly spelt; it was enclosed with one to Mother from the matron of the home—she says Nellie's very good and obedient. Now, listen!"
 
Tom had taken Nellie's letter from his breast-pocket, and proceeded to read aloud:—
 
 
 
"My DEAR Tom,—I hope you are very well, and Mother, and Father,
and Tim. This is a very nice place, and every one is very kind
to me. I hope you will enjoy the fair. The sea is lovely, and I
wish you were here with me, but I expect you and Tim are enjoying
yourselves with Peter Perry and Bounce. Please give my love
to Mother and Father, and with a lot to yourself,"
 
"I am your affectionate sister,"
 
"NELLIE BURFORD."
 
"P.S.—It seems ages since I left home."
 
 
"Thank you," said Peter politely, "it's a very nice letter."
 
"Yes," agreed Tom. "Mother's afraid Nellie's homesick," he added gravely; "it must be a horrid feeling I should think."
 
"Oh, horrid!" said Peter; "I was homesick the first week I was here— I'd have given the world to have been home with Father. Oh, Tom, I do hope you'll like Father! You'll be sure to tell me exactly what you think of him, won't you?"
 
Tom laughed, but would make no promise. However, when, ten days later, he was introduced to Mr. Perry, he found there was no difficulty in the way of his voicing his opinion of him.
 
"I should think he's a very good sort, Peter," he said. "I like him."
 
"I'm so glad," Peter answered earnestly. "And he likes you, Tom. Oh, what do you think he said when he heard about little Grace Lee and all you did for her—"
 
"Why, I didn't do anything for her worth mentioning," broke in Tom.
 
"Oh, yes, you did. She's to thank you that she's found her uncle, and Father says very few boys would have interested themselves in a poor little show-girl, and that you're a real knight-errant!"
 
"Oh, Peter, you've been telling him—"
 
"I've told him all about you," Peter interposed, "and all about your people, too. I knew you wouldn't mind. He knows the home at Broadstairs where Nellie is, and he says it does wonders for lots of children."
 
"Nellie's beginning to get stronger already," Tom said cheerfully. "We heard this morning. And she's heaps happier—that's good, isn't it?"
 
Peter nodded. "I expect little Grace Lee is heaps happier, too," he remarked. "I wonder how she's getting on?"
 
The gipsies had left Hatwell Green before the termination of the Fair, having been anxious not to clash with the menagerie on the road.
 
"Oh, all right," Tom answered. "I haven't a doubt about that. Moses Lee told Max Sordello he might be trusted to look after his brother's child, and I'm certain he will. Oh, yes, Grace is all right."
 
 
 
Nellie's sojourn at Broadstairs did all it had been hoped it would. She returned home shortly before Christmas as well as she had been before her illness, and, oh, so glad to be with her own folks once more.
 
"Every one's been as kind as kind could be to me," she told her parents and brother, on the evening of her return, as she knelt on the hearthrug before the sitting-room fire, fondling Tim, whose eyes, brimful of affection, were raised to her face. "And I loved the sea, but I counted every day as it passed, and thought the time would never come for Mother to fetch me home. You all missed me dreadfully, you say, even Tim?"
 
"I believe Tim missed you as much as any of us," Tom told her. "At first after you'd gone he was always expecting you to come back— watching for you and listening for your footsteps. And now you've come—why, he can't take his eyes off you!"
 
"Dear little fellow!" murmured Nellie, kissing Tim on the top of his head.
 
"I met Miss Perry this afternoon," Mr. Burford remarked presently. "She told me a piece of news you'll be glad to hear, Tom. Her nephew's coming with his father to spend Christmas with her."
 
"Oh, splendid!" cried Tom. "You'll like Mr. Perry, Nellie. He spent a few days with Miss Perry in September, you know, and called to see Mother and Father then."
 
"To thank us, he said, for our kindness to his son," explained Mrs. Burford. "You see, Nellie dear, after you'd gone, Peter and Tom became almost inseparable, and your father took them for several outings to various places. Mr. Perry realised, I expect, that Peter, being blind, is rather a charge."
 
Tom's school had broken up for the Christmas holidays that afternoon, so he was able to devote the whole of his time during the next few days to his sister. They had many confidences to exchange and matters of interest only to themselves to discuss, and their Christmas presents to purchase, so they were very busy and happy. One afternoon, on coming home, after having spent a couple of hours in looking into shop windows, they found their parents in earnest conversation in the sitting-room, and heard Mrs. Burford say as they entered the room: "Oh, do let me tell them!"
 
"Yes, certainly," Mr. Burford answered; adding, "Your mother has good news for you, children."
 
"Mr. Perry has been here: he and Peter arrived last night," Mrs. Burford said eagerly, "and he has offered your father a responsible post in his London office, with a larger salary than he would get in the bank for years, and your father has accepted it. You know Mr. Perry is at the head of an important firm of shipowners, and—"
 
"Oh, yes," interposed Tom excitedly. "Oh, Mother, how happy you look! I see it's a very good post Father's to have, isn't it?"
 
"It is, my boy," Mr. Burford answered. "I really can't think what made Mr. Perry think of offering it to me."
 
"I can," said Tom quickly. "Peter knew you'd been rather shabbily treated at the bank, Father. I'd told him, and of course he told his father, and—"
 
"Oh, Tom!" Mrs. Burford broke in reprovingly; then her eyes and her husband's met, and she laughed light-heartedly.
 
"Hurrah for Peter Perry!" cried Tom, and Nellie, clapping her hands and dancing around the room for joy, echoed: "Hurrah for Peter Perry! Hurrah! hurrah hurrah!"