“If we keeps it in sight, I’ll see if I can’t get near hand it some day and have a look at the boats, if there’s any passing.  Maybe there’d be some coming from where the fair is.  And if there was any folk like them as was so good to me that time, they’d be the right sort for to help us.”

And poor Tim had a most beautiful dream that night.  He thought he himself and Duke and Pamela were sailing down a lovely stream in a boat shining like silver, and with sails of white striped with red and blue and gold, like the frock Diana was trimming for Pamela.  They went so fast it was more like flying than sailing, and all of a sudden they met another boat in which were a lady and gentleman, whom he somehow knew at once were the Grandpapa and Grandmamma of the children’s talk, though they were dressed so grandly in crimson robes, and with golden crowns on their heads like kings and queens, that he was frightened to speak to them; for he had nothing on but his ragged clothes.  And just as Duke and Pamela were rushing towards them with joy, and he was turning away ashamed and miserable, wiping his tears with his jacket sleeve, a soft voice called to him not to be afraid but to come forward too.  And looking up he saw a figure hovering over him, all white and shining like an angel.  But when he looked at the face—­though it was so beautiful—­he knew he had seen it before.  It was that of his poor mother; he knew at once it was she, though in life he could only remember her wan and worn and often weeping.

“Take courage, my boy—­a new life is beginning for you.  Have no fear.”

And then, just as it seemed to him that little Pamela turned round, holding out her hand to lead him forward, he woke!

But his dream left a hopeful feeling in his heart.  It was still very early morning and all his companions were asleep.  Tim got up and very quietly crept out of the sort of one-sided tent, made by drawing a sail-cloth downwards from the top of the van, where he and the other boys slept.  He walked a little way over the rough moor, for there was no road, scarcely even a track, and looked down to where, in the clear thin morning light, the canal lay glittering below.  Then he gazed over the waste in front.  Which way would they be going?  Would they skirt the canal more closely or branch off and strike away from it?  Tim could not tell.  But he resolved to keep his eyes and ears open and to find out.

All that day the gipsy vans jolted along the rough cart-track across the moor.  They halted as usual at mid-day—­but Tim could not get to speak to the twins at all.  And then the caravan started again and went rumbling on till much later than usual, for, as Tim overheard from the gipsies’ conversation, they were eager now to get to Crookford, where the fair was to be, as quickly as possible.  When they at last stopped for the night it was almost dark; but the boy crept close up to the entrance of the waggon where he knew the children to be, and hid himself at the side, and, as he expected, the two little figures came timidly forward.