"Oh, no," Tim rejoined. "Sometimes I wish he did. He spends most of his days shut up in his study. He's writing a book—a tremendously clever book it is, I expect—but what about I haven't the least notion. He was always very learned even when he was a boy, I've heard father say. And he hasn't got to work for his living, so he can please himself how he spends his time."
"Is he better off than your father, then?" asked Bob, somewhat diffidently, for he did not know how his companion would take the question.
"Yes," Tim answered calmly, "he has money which an uncle left him. It was very kind of Uncle John to ask me here, but I wish he was more like father," he concluded with a regretful sigh.
"You are to have tea with us," announced Bob, as they came within sight of home. "Mother said I was to bring you in. You'll come, won't you?"
"But I had tea with you yesterday," demurred Tim, his face flushing with pleasure, "I seem to be half my time in your house now."
Nevertheless he was easily persuaded to enter the Glanvilles' door instead of his uncle's. Kitty met the two boys in the hall, curious to ascertain where they had spent the afternoon; she herself had been shopping with her mother. Bob explained where they had been, and told her that Tim was acquainted with the vendor of rat poison who attended the weekly market, and that she was to be taken to see the old man's collection of animals and birds one Saturday afternoon "if she was a good girl, and behaved herself."
"If I behave myself, indeed!" she cried, with a toss of her fair head. "I dare say he would show them to me if I went alone."
"Mother wouldn't like you to do that," returned Bob, "for he lives in a very poor part of the town, in a back street."
The children were obliged to content themselves in the house after tea, for a drizzling rain came on; they managed to enjoy themselves, however, and at eight o'clock Tim went home.
Half an hour later, when Kitty ran upstairs to tidy herself before supper, she opened her bedroom window—her room was at the back of the house—and leaned out to ascertain if it still rained. It was dry now, and the moon, a silver crescent, was shining between the clouds. The little girl was about to draw in her head when a faint movement below caused her to pause and listen attentively. Some one was close to the back door, apparently leaning into the scullery window, which had been left open.