But he was not allowed to wonder long.  A few moments more and there came the summons his faithful little heart had been sure would come.

“Tim, Tim—­where is Tim?  Come and see our Grandpapa and our Grandmamma, Tim,” and two pairs of little hot hands dragged him into the parlour.

It was not at all like his dream, but it was far grander than any room he had ever been in before, and never afterwards did the boy forget the strange sweet perfume which seemed a part of it all—­the scent of the dried rose-leaves in the jars, though he did not then know what it was.  But it always came back to him when he thought of that first evening—­the beginning to him of a good and honest and useful life—­when the tall old gentleman and the sweet little old lady laid their hands on his curly head and blessed him for what he had done and promised to be his friends.

They kept their promise well and wisely.  Grandpapa took real trouble to find out what the boy was best fitted for, and when he found it was for gardening, Tim was thoroughly trained by old Noble till he was able to get a good place of his own.  He lived with Barbara in her neat little cottage, and in the evenings learned to read and write and cipher, so that before very long he could make out the letters in the porch, though Grandpapa had to be asked to tell their meaning.

“Nothing without work,” was what they meant.  They had been carved there by the old Dutchman who had built the farmhouse, afterwards turned into the pretty quaint “Arbitt Lodge.”

“A good and true saying,” added Grandpapa, and so the three children to whom he was speaking found it.  For all three in their different ways worked hard and well, and when in my childhood I knew them as old people, I felt, even before I quite understood it, that “the Colonel,” as he then had become, and his sweet white-haired sister deserved the love and respect they seemed everywhere to receive.  And I could see that it was no common tie which bound to them their faithful servant Timothy, whose roses were the pride of all the country-side, when, after many years of separation, he came to end his life in their service, after Duke’s “fighting days” were over and his widowed sister was, but for him, alone in the world.

* * * * *

One question may be asked.  Did they ever hear of Diana again?  Yes, though not till Tim had grown into a strapping young fellow, and the twins were tall and thin, and had long since left off talking of “us.”

There came along the lanes one summer’s day a covered van hung over at the back with baskets, such as the children well remembered.  A good-humoured looking man was walking by the horse, a handsome woman was sitting by the door plaiting straw.

“Gipsies,” cried the children, who were on their way to the village, and, big as they were, they were a little frightened when, with a cry, the woman jumped down and flew towards them.