"What a nice boy you are," she said condescendingly. "What's your name? Is that—— ugly man" she was going to have said, but she hesitated, afraid of hurting the boy's feelings—"is the man your father?" and she dropped her voice.
"Bless yer, no," he replied with real fervency, "and that's one thing I'm thankful for. Mick my father; no, thank you, missy. My name's Tim, leastways so I'm called. Diana she says it's short for Timothy, but Tim's long enough."
"And who's Diana?" asked the children, beginning to forget their own troubles in curiosity.
"Her as he roared out at so—yonder—when you was up at the top o' the wall. She's a deal better than him and the missus is Diana. But listen, master and missy. He'll be back in a minute, and——"
"Oh let us run away before he comes! oh do help us to run away!" they exclaimed, all their terrors returning. "Us doesn't want the bowl now. Oh Tim, can't us all run away, quick, before he comes?"
And the two little creatures seized hold of their new friend's ragged jacket as if they felt that in him was their only chance of safety.
CHAPTER V.
TIM.
| "Whose imp art thou with dimpled cheek, |
| And curly pate and merry eye?" |
| J. Baillie. |