“I wish Jesus would come and help us now,” she said softly.  “I’m sure us needs him quite as much as those men he was so kind to.  Tell us about the canal, Tim.”

“It’s boats,” replied Tim.  “Long boats made just the right shape.  And they’ve got rooms in them—­quite tidy-like.  The one that boy lived in along o’ his mother was as nice as—­as nice as nice.  And then they go a-sailin’ along—­right from one end of the canal to the other.”

“What for—­just because they like it?”

“Oh no.  They’ve all sorts of things they take about from one place to another—­wood often and coal.  But that wasn’t a coal boat—­it was nice and clean that one.  And there’s hosses as walks along the side of the canals, pullin’ of the boats with ropes.  It’s a pleasant life enough, to my thinking—­that’s to say when they’re tidy, civil-like folk.  Some of them’s awful rough—­as rough as Mick and the Missus and all o’ them.”

Duke and Pamela listened with the greatest interest.  They quite forgot to cry any more about their home in listening to what Tim told them.

“Oh, Tim,” said Pamela, “I’ll tell you what would be nice.  If us and you could get one of those boats, and a horse to pull it, and go sailing away till we got home to Grandpapa and Grandmamma.  That would be nice, wouldn’t it, Tim?”

“Yes, missie,” said Tim.  “But is there canals near your place?”

Pamela’s face fell.

“I don’t know.  I never thought of that,” she said.  “But I daresay there’s one that goes to not far off from there.  And Mick would never catch us then, would he, Tim?  We’d go so fast, wouldn’t we?”

“They don’t go that fast—­not canal boats,” replied Tim.  “Still I don’t think as Mick’d ever think of looking for us there.  That’d be the best of it.”

But just then the rough voice of Mick himself was heard calling to them to come back; for they had wandered to some little distance from the other children, who were quarrelling and shouting near the vans.

“Come back you brats, will ye?” he roared.  And the poor little things, like frightened sheep, followed by Tim, hurried back.  Pamela shuddered at the sound of their jailor’s voice in a way the boy could not bear to see.  Mick had never yet actually struck her or her brother so as to hurt them; but Tim well knew that any day it might come to that.

“And a blow from his heavy hand—­such a blow as he’s given me many a time when he’s been tipsy—­would go near to killing them tender sort o’ fairy-like critturs,” said the boy to himself, shuddering in his turn.  “He’s been extra sober for a good bit, but onst he gets to the fair there’s no saying.”

And over and over again, as he was falling asleep, he asked himself what could be done,—­how it would be possible to make their escape?  Somehow the sight of the canal had roused a little hope in him, though he did not yet see how it could be turned to purpose.