"Yes," said Duke, who had hold of Tim's other hand; "she makes us nice and clean and tidy."
"And she's making a gown for me," said Pamela. "It's made of my own white gown, but she's sewing rows of red and blue and gold round it. And she says if Duke is good she's going to make him a red jacket. Isn't it kind of her? Do you know, Tim," she went on in a lower tone, "us has been thinking that perhaps they're meaning to take us home soon, and that they want us to look very nice. Do you think it's that, Tim? I'm sure Grandpapa and Grandmamma would be so pleased they'd give them lots of money if they took us back."
"I'm afeared it's not taking you home they're thinking of, missie," said Tim grimly.
"Then why don't you help us to run away, Tim?" said Duke impatiently. "I've asked you and asked you. I'm sure us might run away now—there's nobody looking after us."
"And where would we run to?" said Tim. "There's not a mortal house nor a tree even to be seen. Run away, indeed! We'd be cotched—cotched afore we'd run half a mile. And yet it's the very first time you've bin let run about a little. I'm ready enough to run away, but no good running away to be cotched again—it 'ud be worser nor ever."
"Then is us never to run away? Is us never to see Grandpapa, and Grandmamma, and Dymock, and Biddy, and Nurse, and Toby—oh, dear Toby!—and the garden, and the nursery, and our little beds, again?" said both children, speaking together and helping each other with the list of their lost blessings, and in the end bursting into tears.
Tim looked at them ruefully.
"Don't 'ee now, don't 'ee, master and missy," he said anxiously. "They'll see you've been crying, and they'll not let you out any more."
Duke and Pamela tried to choke down their sobs.
"Will you try to help us to run away, then, if us is very good—Tim, dear Tim, oh do," they said piteously. And Tim tried to soothe them with kind words and promises to do his best.