"But, my deary," said Barbara, "I don't rightly see what we can do for him. The police might think it right to keep us all there too—and I'm that eager to get you home to ease your dear Grandmamma and the General. I think it's best to go on and get your Grandpapa to write about the poor boy."
But now the idea of rescuing Tim was in the children's heads it was not so easy to get rid of it. They stood still looking at each other and at Mrs. Twiss with tears in their eyes; they had come by this time perhaps half a mile from where they had met their friends. The high-road was here shadier and less dusty, and it was anything but inviting to think of retracing the long stretch to Monkhaven, though from where they stood, a turn in the road hid it from them. All at once a whistle caught their ears—a whistle two or three times repeated in a particular way—Toby pricked up his ears, put himself in a very valiant attitude, and barked with a great show of importance, as much as to say, "Just you look out now, whoever you are. I am on guard now." But his bark did not seem to strike awe into the whistler, whoever he was. Again his note sounded clear and cheery. And this time, with a cry of "It's Tim, it's Tim," off flew Duke and Pam down the road, followed by Barbara—Toby of course keeping up a running accompaniment of flying circles round the whole party till at last the sight of his beloved little master and mistress hugging and kissing a bright-eyed, clean-faced, but sadly ragged boy was altogether too much for his refined feelings, and he began barking with real fury, flinging himself upon Tim as if he really meant to bite him.
Duke caught him up.
"Silly Toby," he cried, "it's Tim. You must learn to know Tim;" and old Barbara coming up by this time and speaking to the boy in a friendly tone, poor Toby's misgivings were satisfied, and he set to work to wagging his tail in a slightly subdued manner.
Then came explanations on both sides. Tim had to tell how he had slipped himself out through the window, narrow as it was, and how, thanks to an old water-butt and some loose bricks in the wall, he had scrambled down like a cat, and made off as fast as his legs would carry him to the place where he had left the children.
"And when you wasn't there I was fairly beat—I was," he said. "I knowed they hadn't had time to find you—perlice I mean—but I saw as you must have got tired waiting so long. So off I set till I met a woman who told me the way to the Sandle'ham road. I had a fancy you'd ask for it rather than come into the town if you thought they'd cotched me, and I was about right you see."
"Is this the Sandle'ham road? Oh yes, Barbara told us it was," said the children. "But us didn't know it was. Us just runned and runned when us saw the policeman, us was so frightened."
"But us was going back to try to get you out of prison if Barbara would have let us," added Pamela.
Then all about Barbara and Toby had to be explained, and a great weight fell from Tim's heart when he quite understood that the old woman was a real home friend—that there would no longer be any puzzle or difficulty as to how to do or which way to go, now that they had fallen in with this trusty protector.
"To be sure—well now this are a piece of luck, and no mistake," he repeated, one big smile lighting up all his pleasant face. But suddenly it clouded over.