"A dwarf!" Tom exclaimed, and stopped to look at him.

"Yes, very likely you're right," agreed Mr. Burford; "I think so myself."

"What a plucky little thing she must be!" cried Tom, excitedly. "You'll let me go and see her performance with the lions on Monday, won't you, Father?"

"I hardly know," Mr. Burford answered hesitatingly; "I don't altogether approve of that sort of entertainment, because I don't believe that lions can be trained by kindness, especially forest-bred animals. And it's terrible to think that a child's life should be risked to amuse the public and for gain; it never ought to be allowed. I begin to see, Tom, that those Sordellos may have been prompted by a selfish motive when they adopted that little orphan— no doubt she adds considerably to the lion-trainer's earnings."

"Yes, of course," Tom agreed. His face had become very thoughtful and grave. "Poor little girl," he said, pityingly; "I wonder if she is afraid of the lions? I know Nellie would be in her place."

Then the conversation turned upon Nellie, and in talking of his dearly loved sister Tom forgot every one else for the time. Later his thoughts reverted to Grace Lee, and he went to bed with the determination to visit Hatwell Green on the morrow, and tell the gipsies all about her.

"One thing is quite certain," he said to himself, "and that is that she's very miserable. I never saw any little girl with such an unhappy face before. And she seemed so frightened! I wonder what she was afraid of? I shall try to find out!"

CHAPTER X

TOM MEETS THE DWARF

IT was on a Thursday that Mrs. Burford and Nellie went to Broadstairs, and the evening of the following day saw the former at home again. Nellie had been in very low spirits when she had left her, Mrs. Burford was obliged to admit, but the little girl had promised to try to be happy and was to be trusted to keep her word.

"When she makes friends amongst the other children and begins to get stronger I expect she'll settle down comfortably and not fret," she said hopefully; "as I told her, the time will soon slip by to Christmas, and then—oh, think what a blessing it will be if she returns to us well and strong!"

"Yes, won't it?" said Tom. He had had supper with his parents, and now was alone with his mother, his father having left the house to post a letter. "And won't we have a jollification when she comes home!" he cried; adding, "Oh, Mother, I must tell you all my experiences of yesterday! Such exciting experiences they were!"

"It seems to me that you're always having exciting experiences, my dear," smiled Mrs. Burford. "Well, I'm ready to hear them."

She listened in silence whilst Tom spoke of his and Peter's adventure with the cow, the colour fading from her cheeks; noticing which sign of agitation the boy hastened to tell her all about Grace Lee and the Sordellos, and thus diverted her thoughts into another channel.

"You'll have to write all this to Nellie, Mother," he said, in conclusion, "for I'm sure I couldn't explain it properly, and she'll be so interested, you know. Besides, I promised she should hear everything that went on at home whilst she was away. I quite meant to go to Hatwell Green to-day, but it's rained so heavily that I've had to put off going till to-morrow."

"I don't understand why you are so anxious to find out whether or not this little show-girl is related to the gipsies," said Mrs. Burford, looking rather mystified.

"Because Moses Lee is a very kind man, and I believe if he knew a relation of his was being served badly—of course I should tell him— that he'd interfere," Tom promptly replied.

"I see. Well, it can do no harm your mentioning the child to him."

"That's what I think! Oh, I do hope the weather will clear by to-morrow!"

Tom had his wish, for the following morning gave promise of a perfect day. The rain clouds had all dispersed during the night, so that the sun rose in a sky of cloudless blue. Directly after breakfast Tom set out, with Tim, to walk to Hatwell Green; his most direct way out of the town was to pass through the Market Square, and ten minutes after he had left home found him there, lingering to look about him.

It was very quiet in the Square this morning. The vans belonging to the menagerie were still covered; but, as Tom strolled around them, he heard various sounds from within, the chattering of monkeys, and the low growls of tigers and lions. Of course, he could not see any of the wild animals, he had not expected that he would; but, on turning his back on the menagerie his attention was attracted by the quaint little figure of a man seated on the top step at the back of a bright green caravan, reading a newspaper, and his eyes sparkled with interest and excitement. "A dwarf!" he exclaimed, under his breath, and stopped to look at him. The dwarf was an elderly man. His big head was quite bald, and his large, rather flat face was covered with wrinkles; he had a snub nose, and an extraordinarily wide mouth. For several minutes he did not notice Tom, so that the boy was able to have a long, steady look at him, during which he decided that he was the ugliest dwarf he had ever seen; but, on turning his newspaper, the dwarf suddenly caught sight of him, and speaking through his nose, inquired: "Hulloa, youngster, what are you doing here?"

"Nothing," answered Tom, confused at being caught staring: "that is, I was only looking at you. I beg your pardon."

"A cat may look at a king," quoted the little man, chuckling; "but a king mayn't look at me—without paying; so you may consider yourself privileged."

"Yes, certainly," agreed Tom, still more confused. "I've no right here, and I'll go at once, and not tell anyone what you're like, or—"

"Oh, stop a minute!" interrupted the dwarf. "You needn't hurry—now you've seen me. That dog yours?" He flicked his thumb and forefinger at 'rim, who jumped up the steps of the caravan and allowed himself to be patted.

"Yes, he's mine," Tom answered; "or, I should say, he belongs to all of us; he's a sort of family dog. I say, you're fond of dogs, aren't you? Tim wouldn't make friends with you if you weren't."

The dwarf smiled, whilst his eyes—bright, dark eyes they were— twinkled. All his wrinkles were kindly ones, Tom noticed, and his smile was eloquent of good humour. "I'm fond of dogs and children," he answered, "more especially of dogs, for their instinct always teaches them to trust me. With children it's different; they're afraid of dwarfs, most of 'em."

"You weren't here last year, were you?" questioned Tom. "If so, I didn't see you, and I saw nearly all the shows. There was a dwarf here, but—"

"Oh, I know all about him," broke in the little man, in a disparaging tone; "he's an inch and a half taller than I am. He won't come this year, you'll find; it would be no good if he did, with me to compete against. I'm the smallest dwarf in Europe—I should beat Tom Thumb if he was living now, for I'm an eighth of an inch less in height than he used to be."

"Really?" said Tom, politely, though secretly much amused.

"Yes, really," added the dwarf. "I'm Tiny Jim; in private life, James Augustus Rumbelow. My wife's a fat lady. We're travelling with Dumbell's menagerie, but we're a separate show—you have to pay extra to see us."

Tom made no response to this; he was considering whether or not he should speak to Tiny Jim about little Grace Lee.

"Of course you'll come and see 'Una and the Lion,'" the dwarf continued; "that'll be the great draw, I expect. I hope—" He paused, sighed, then added, more as if speaking to himself than to Tom: "They say there's no need to be nervous, and every precaution will be made for the child's safety—yes, yes, it'll be all right, I know!" He folded his newspaper as he spoke, and rose to his feet, his head scarcely reaching to the handle of the caravan door. Then a woman's voice from within the caravan was heard.

"James Augustus Rumbelow," it said, "you ought to know better than to stay out there gossiping with one of the public. Come in to breakfast."

"All right, my dear, coming!" answered Tiny Jim; and, having bestowed upon Tom a nod of farewell, he entered the caravan, and closed the door.

After that Tom moved away, and was soon out of the town. Arrived at Hatwell Green he found, to his great disappointment, that Moses had left his wife and child with the caravan, and gone to a horse-fair, which was being held that day in a town some ten miles distant.

"He's certain not to be back till late to-night, anyway," said Mrs. Lee, regarding the boy curiously, for she naturally wondered what he wanted with her husband; and perhaps not till to-morrow. He said he might stop the night with some relatives.

"His relatives?" inquired Tom, eagerly.

"No," the woman replied, surprised at the question. "Mine."

"Because I know a little girl called Grace Lee," said Tom; "and I've been thinking that she might be related to your husband. Her father, who's dead, was a gipsy. He used to travel with a roundabout, and—oh, I'm afraid you don't know anything about him!"

"No, sir," answered Mrs. Lee, rather doubtfully. "I suppose he couldn't have been my husband's brother who went to Canada some twelve years ago, could he? He was always a rolling stone, and he might have come back to England without letting Moses know. Where is the little girl you speak of living?"

Tom explained with whom Grace made her home, and that she was very miserable with the Sordellos; and, he believed, harshly and cruelly treated.

"Poor little maid!" exclaimed the gipsy woman, sympathetically. "I'll tell Moses what you say, and he shall make inquiries at the Fair on Monday, and find out all he can about the child."

With that promise Tom was obliged to be satisfied. He had come to Hatwell Green through the meadows, and he returned the same way, lingering on the banks of the stream which flowed through the meadows to watch the trout jump, and to allow Tim to hunt field-mice, one of the little dog's favourite pastimes, so that it was past noon before he reached the town. Nevertheless, he loitered once more in the Market Square, which presented a much busier appearance now, for several fresh shows had arrived, and a shooting gallery was in course of erection. Hoping he might see the dwarf again, Tom hovered around the green caravan for some minutes; then, seeing no one, strolled on to the menagerie vans. Little escaped his observation, and by and by, under one of the vans, half hidden by a bundle of straw, he caught sight of a crouching figure—the figure of Tiny Jim. The little man appeared to be listening intently, and as Tom stopped to watch him, he heard sounds within the van, the cracking of a whip, and the growls of some animal. "I say, what's going on in there?" the boy inquired of a big man in a plaid suit of clothes, who was leaning against the van.

"What's that to do with you?" snapped the man, with a scowl.

"Nothing," said Tom, adding, "you have lost something."

"What?" questioned the man. He moved, and looked about him on the ground as he spoke.

"Your manners," Tom replied, quietly, his face one broad smile of amusement.

The man rapped out an angry word; then, suddenly catching sight of the dwarf's crouching figure, his face turned purple with passion. "What are you doing there, you rat?" he demanded, in a hoarse whisper, addressing Tiny Jim. "Come out this minute! Do you hear? Come out!" He knelt down as he spoke, and, catching the dwarf by the collar, pulled him with a jerk from beneath the van; then, rising, shook him roughly, till the poor little man's teeth actually chattered in his head.

"Oh, Mr. Dumbell, don't, sir, don't!" cried Tiny Jim. "I was doing no harm; and, indeed, I don't think any one saw me!"

"That boy did!" declared Mr. Dumbell, pointing at Tom. "It's no good his denying it, for I shouldn't believe him!"

"I've no intention of denying it!" Tom replied, indignantly. "Do you think I would tell you a falsehood? I did see him."

"And of course others have," said Mr. Dumbell, "which means he's lost me several shillings maybe this morning. Folk won't want to pay to see him at the Fair if they've seen him beforehand, not they! Get along home with you!" He dropped his hold of the dwarf, who, pale and trembling, slunk away.

"I hope he doesn't think I pointed him out to you," Tom said, addressing Mr. Dumbell. "Why were you so rough? It was cruel to shake him as you did, poor little fellow!"

"I lost my temper," admitted Mr. Dumbell. "Poor little fellow, indeed! He's the most interfering, aggravating dwarf I ever had to do with!"

He took up his former position against the van as he spoke, and there Tom left him. The boy, after a few minutes' consideration, returned to the green caravan, upon the closed door of which he rapped sharply.

"Well?" said the dwarf's voice within.

"Please open the door a minute," requested Tom. "I've something to say to you."

Tiny Jim opened the door about a foot, and looked out. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"Only to tell you that I didn't point you out to Mr. Dumbell," Tom said, earnestly. "I was afraid you might think I had. You believe me, don't you?"

"Why, yes, certainly!" replied Tiny Jim, his broad face brightening. It clouded again a moment later, as he continued: "I ought not to have been there, but the lion-trainer's putting the lions through their performance, and I wanted to hear what was going on—hulloa!"

A purple-faced woman, whom Tom immediately recognised as Mrs. Sordello, had rushed up to the caravan, and was demanding to be told what the dwarf had done with "the child."

"I haven't seen her to-day," Tiny Jim answered. "You are talking of Grace, I suppose?"

The woman assented. "You're not hiding her?" she asked. "No? Then, what can have become of her? She knows Max wants her this morning. I'll give her something to remember by and by! I'll—"

She broke off abruptly, for the dwarf had shut the caravan door in her face, and, flinging up her head with an indignant gesture, she moved away. She had taken no notice whatever of Tom, who, finding Tiny Jim evidently had no intention of reappearing, now went home. "That Mrs. Sordello is a wicked, cruel woman," he declared, after he had told his morning's experiences to his mother; "you may depend upon it that poor little girl has run away."

CHAPTER XI

THE KNIGHT-ERRANT

THE Saturday before the show at Chilaton, which had dawned so promisingly, became overcast as the day wore on. In the afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Burford went by train to a neighbouring town to spend a few hours with some friends, whilst Tom betook himself to Halcyon Villa, where, to his disappointment, he found that Peter had gone for a drive with his aunt, and that the time of their return was uncertain.

"Never mind, Tim," he said, as he and his little dog turned away from the front door, "we'll go for a tramp by ourselves—to Bellman Glen. I dare say it won't rain, although it looks so cloudy."

Accordingly they started for Bellman Glen, a charming spot much patronised by picnickers; it was about three miles distant from Chilaton. At dinner-time Mr. Burford had told Tom that he did not wish him to loiter about in the Market Square, otherwise the boy would doubtless have whiled away the afternoon there.

Both Tom and Tim enjoyed the walk, more especially the latter, who hunted the fields on either side of the road unreproved. Their way took them through a village, where Tom expended threepence, all the money in his possession, in the purchase of halfpenny buns which, on arriving at Bellman Glen, he shared with Tim, who, from the time he had purchased them, had kept close to his side.

"There, you greedy little beast!" Tom exclaimed laughingly, as he presented his companion with the last piece of the last bun, "that's all. You've had quite as much as I have, if not more."

Satisfied now, Tim stretched himself out on the smooth, velvety turf near the tree against the trunk of which Tom was sitting, and promptly went to sleep.

"The little beggar's tired," Tom said to himself; "well, we can rest a bit. It's awfully hot considering there's no sun. I think it must be thunder weather. I'm tired myself."

But he was a boy who never could be still very long, and, in less than ten minutes after the buns had been finished, he rose and set off with Tim on the return journey. As they emerged from the glen into the road he noticed a wall of black clouds in the west; overhead the sky was a leaden grey.

"I doubt if we get back dry, Tim," he remarked, "anyway we'd better hurry. I wonder what time it is. I'll ask at the village."

He did so, and found that it was nearly six o'clock, later than he had imagined. He was anxious to reach home before his parents, and was doubtful now whether he would; however, they would not worry about him, he reflected, but would imagine him at Halcyon Villa.

"We're going to have it now!" he exclaimed, as, half a mile beyond the village, he felt a drop of rain on his face, then another, and another. "I wonder if there's anywhere we could get shelter? I dare say it's only going to be a thunder shower. Oh, I know! There's an old lime-kiln over there! Come, Tim!"

The boy and dog left the high road, and tore across a meadow at the far end of which, adjoining a wood, they found shelter in a disused, ivy-covered lime-kiln. The rain was falling fast now, and thunder was rumbling in the distance.

"This is a dismal hole sure enough," Tom thought, "but it would be silly to get drenched if it's going to clear directly. Why, there's some one else here! A little girl! Oh, I do believe it's Grace Lee!"

Yes, seated on the ground, her head resting-against the stone wall of the kiln, her eyes closed, her dark hair half hiding her face, was the little runaway show-girl. Peering at her in the dim light, Tom saw that she was fast asleep. Whilst he hesitated to disturb her, Tim, who had been standing at her side, wagging his tail, suddenly gave a spring into her lap, and she awoke with a start, and a cry which was almost a shriek. The next minute, however, her arms, were around Tim, and she was hugging and kissing him.

"Oh, you dear little dog!" she exclaimed; "I know you wouldn't hurt me, you darling, but, oh, you did frighten me! I thought—thought—" She broke off, shuddering, and looked up with a world of pathos in her dark eyes at Tom. "Oh, don't believe I'm so wicked as Max Sordello made out to you," she said pleadingly; "but I'm afraid you will, because I've run away."

"I don't believe you're wicked at all," Tom declared stoutly, "nor does Peter Perry. We wish we could help you."

"How kind!" said the child. Her eyes filled with tears, and her lips quivered. "I can't go back," she said. "I won't! I'd rather stay here and die! It would be better to die here than to be killed by Hero."

"Hero?" echoed Tom. "Oh, the lion! Then you're afraid of him?"

"Horribly, horribly afraid of him! I haven't minded so much going into the cages with the other lions—they're not forest-bred, and they're too afraid of Max's whip to dare to touch me; but Hero—oh, he's different! At first when they told me I was to perform with him I said, 'No, no, no!' but Mrs. Sordello said she'd half kill me if I wouldn't promise to do as Max told me, and—"

"Was that the meaning of the row I heard between you?" interrupted Tom, excitedly. "Oh," he cried, as the little girl nodded assent, "how, cruel, how cruel!"

"I had to give in," Grace told him; "it wasn't any good saying 'no.' I have had two rehearsals with Hero, and I was to have had another this morning, but directly after breakfast I slipped away out of the town; then I wandered about in the fields and woods till I was so tired I couldn't go farther, and I crept in here and lay down."

"How long have you been here, I wonder?"

"I don't know. I've been asleep. When your little dog woke me, I thought for a minute that Hero had turned on me. You won't tell any one you've seen me here, will you? This is a fine hiding-place."

"But you can't stay here altogether, Grace."

The child pushed her heavy hair back from her face, and sighed. "My head aches dreadfully," she said in a plaintive tone; "it's ached for days, and it makes me feel so stupid. No, I can't stay here altogether; if I did, Max might find me. By and by I shall go on."

"But where are you going?"

"I don't know."

"And it's raining. Listen! If you were out in weather like this, you'd be wet to the skin in a few minutes. Good gracious!"

A vivid flash of forked lightning had lit up the kiln momentarily; it was followed immediately by a deafening peal of thunder, and the little girl cowered against the wall, hiding her eyes.

"I came here for shelter from the rain," Tom explained; "but I didn't guess a storm was so near. It seems right overhead, doesn't it? Don't be frightened, Grace; I don't think we shall come to any harm here. Look at Tim! Isn't he funny? He can never understand what thunder is."

Grace uncovered her eyes and looked at the little dog, who had left her lap and was standing beside Tom, his head cocked on one side, listening. At every flash of lightning he glanced up into his master's face, with a look which asked as plainly as words, "Is it all right?" and when Tom answered, "Yes, it's all right, Tim," appeared quite satisfied.

"How sharp he is!" the little girl said, smiling. "I don't suppose you'd part with him for anything, would you?"

"Money wouldn't buy him," Tom replied; "no, not any amount of money."

There was a long pause in the conversation after this, during which the lightning flashed and the thunder roared, and Tom considered Grace's situation very seriously. She seemed to have made no plans, and he saw that she was nearly done up. He wondered if the Sordellos were searching for her; if so, there was every probability that they would find her, and his kind heart swelled with pity as he thought of her terror of Hero and the heartlessness of those who, for the sake of gain, meant to make a public exhibition of her with the lion, against her will.

"What a miserable life you must have had travelling about with that menagerie!" he remarked by and by. "I saw Mr. Dumbell this morning, and spoke to him. I call him a very rough, ill-mannered man." And forthwith he gave her an account of the scene between Mr. Dumbell and Tiny Jim, to which she listened with a pained expression on her pale little countenance.

"Oh, poor Mr. Rumbelow!" she sighed, when he had finished speaking. "He was anxious about me: that was why he was under the van, listening. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rumbelow have always been very, very kind to me, and now, perhaps, I shall never see them again."

"You don't think of going back, Grace?"

"No, no, no! As soon as the rain stops I must go on."

"It is stopping. The storm is passing, but it will soon be night. The evenings are growing very short now."

"Never mind. I'll walk on till I come to a village or town, and sleep on a doorstep. I'll be careful a policeman doesn't find me. In the morning I'll beg a little food. I must do without it till then. I was very hungry at dinner-time, but I found some blackberries and ate them, and—"

"Haven't you had any proper food since breakfast?" Tom interposed in a tone of dismay. "No? Oh, this is dreadful—dreadful!"

The sympathy in his voice brought tears to Grace's eyes again, and a sob of self-pity broke from her lips. "Oh, why did Father die and leave me?" she wailed. "Oh, if only I'd some one to go to! Perhaps, if I could find my uncle, he'd be kind to me."

"What uncle?" asked Tom, sharply.

"Father's brother. I've never seen him, but Father used to speak of him sometimes. He was always hoping to run against him somewhere, but he never did."

"What is his name?"

"Moses—Moses Lee."

"Moses Lee!" Tom almost shouted the name in his delight. "Why, Grace, I can take you to him," he said. "That is, I can take you to his caravan, and his wife will look after you."

"You know my Uncle Moses?" questioned Grace, wonderingly.

"Yes! And he's a jolly, kind fellow. He has a wife and a little daughter—younger than you—called Zingra. They've a beautiful yellow and red caravan, and it's at Hatwell Green now. Come, I'll take you to Mrs. Lee. She'll look after you, and when she hears about Hero, I know that, whatever happens, she won't let the Sordellos get hold of you again."

"Where is Hatwell Green?" Grace asked, rising with some difficulty, for her limbs were stiff and aching. An eager light was shining in her dark eyes.

"About a mile from here. Oh, good! The rain's stopped altogether. We have to cross the field to reach the road."

This they did, getting themselves wet nearly to the knees, for the meadow had become a swamp with the heavy rain, and the grass was very long. Grace was shivering and complaining of being cold before they had gone far on the road.

"Is it much farther?" she asked, when they had walked about half a mile.

"A good bit farther," Tom was obliged to admit.

"Then I'm afraid it's no good: I can't get there," the little girl said in a tone of despair. "You'd better go home and leave me."

"Not likely! To be found by the Sordellos! Here, take hold of my hand. You nearly fell then."

Grace obeyed, and for a few minutes the pair walked on in silence. But the little girl's footsteps lagged, and by and by, with a burst of tears, she came to a full stop.

"I can't—I can't go on!" she sobbed, and dropping Tom's hand, she sank down on the muddy road. "I feel so funny, so—" Her voice trailed off indistinctly.

"Oh, dear me whatever can I do?" exclaimed Tom, in dire dismay. "I don't like to leave you, but I suppose I must. I'd better hurry on to Hatwell Green and fetch Mrs. Lee. Do you hear, Grace? Why don't you speak?"

Grace did not answer, for the simple reason that she had fainted from exhaustion. She lay, a miserable little heap of humanity, right in the middle of the road, and Tom was at his wits' end how to act. To add to the difficulties of his position, it had commenced to rain again.

"I can't let her lie here," he reflected. "I wonder if she's very heavy."

He tried to lift her, but, failing in the attempt, dragged her into the hedgerow where the hedge would shelter her a little from the rain. Having done that, he was about to start running for Hatwell Green, when the sound of a horse galloping along the road fell on his ears, and he waited. Nearer and nearer came the horse, urged on by a voice which struck familiarly on the listener's ears.

"It's Moses Lee!" Tom exclaimed joyfully. "Hi, stop!" he shouted; "stop!"

CHAPTER XII

THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS

"OH, Tom, how wonderful—wonderful that you should have found her, and that Moses Lee should have come along just at the very minute he was wanted; and, oh, do go on and tell me what happened next!"

It was the afternoon of the first day of the Fair, and the scene was the garden at Halcyon Villa, where, in the shadow of an arbutus tree, Tom Burford and Peter Perry sat on a seat talking, and regaling themselves with fairing in the shape of sweets and ginger-bread nuts which the former had brought with him. This was the first time they had met since Tom's experiences on Saturday, to an account of which Peter had been listening with the liveliest interest. Tom had come to a dramatic pause after having told how he had stopped Moses Lee.

"Well," he continued, in answer to his companion's eager request for further information, "of course Moses Lee was tremendously surprised when he pulled up, and I made him understand what a fix I was in; but he didn't say much—only, 'We'd best take the little maid to my missus.' Then he got off his horse and let me ride it, and he picked Grace up and carried her on to Hatwell Green, and gave her to his wife to look after. Of course I explained everything as well as I could, and as soon as I'd done that I went home. Fortunately I got there before Mother and Father returned, after all, and weren't they amazed when they heard all that had happened! Oh, Peter, wasn't it shockingly wicked of those Sordellos to make Grace go into the cage with Hero! It must have been frightfully dangerous, you know!"

"Frightfully! But she'll never have to do it again now, will she?" Peter inquired anxiously.

"Never! That's settled. Moses Lee has been to see the Sordellos, and has told them they shall never have charge of Grace again. They were awfully abusive to him, and at first declared that she wasn't his brother's child. But she is. There are some people travelling with the menagerie (a Mr. and Mrs. Rumbelow, a dwarf and his wife—a fat lady) who can prove it. They knew Grace's father and her mother, too. Well, when the Sordellos found that that lie did them no good, they offered Moses money to get Grace back, but he told them 'no,' and when they found he meant it there was a most dreadful row. It's not wonderful that the Sordellos are furiously angry, because if Grace doesn't appear as 'Una,' it will be a great loss to them. Mr. Dumbell will cut Max's pay, it seems. But Grace will never be 'Una' again."

"Oh, what a good thing! What will become of her, Tom?"

"The Lees mean to keep her. They say they'll treat her as though she was their own child. Father and I went to Hatwell Green after church yesterday morning to inquire for Grace, and she was ever so much better. It was being so hungry and tired that had made her ill the day before. Father said he could see a distinct likeness between her and Zingra. They're cousins, you know."

"Yes, of course. How strange that Moses should not have known he had a niece until you told him!"

"He didn't know his brother was dead either—he was dreadfully cut up, poor chap, when he heard that. The fact is that neither he nor his brother ever learnt to write, so they couldn't either of them know anything about the other. It's very seldom gipsies can write or read. Mrs. Lee can do both though, and she told Father that during the winter, which the Lees mean to spend at Birmingham, she would send Grace to school regularly. 'I'll do my best for her in every way, sir,' she said, and I'm sure she meant it."

"Have you been to see the lions yet, Tom?" Peter inquired.

"No," Tom answered, "but Father's going to take me to-night if all's well; I particularly want to see Hero, and, if you like, I'll come again to-morrow afternoon, and tell you about him."

"Oh, please do! And, please, take this half-crown and buy me some fairing. You don't mind?"

"Not in the least. What sort of fairing do you want, and how much?"

"A pound of mixed sweets, please, with plenty of almond comfits in them."

The following afternoon found the boys in the same position, munching almond comfits whilst they talked. Tom had enumerated all the animals he had seen in the menagerie, and was now speaking of the lions.

"They were wonderfully trained," he said, "and did everything Max Sordello ordered them, but I wasn't sorry when the performance was over. Hero had a cage to himself, and Max Sordello didn't go in with him at all. I heard some one ask him why he didn't and where 'Una' was, and a lot of people grumbled. After we'd finished with the wild beasts we saw Tiny Jim and his wife. Tiny Jim was in evening dress with diamond studs—I suppose they couldn't have been real diamonds though—in his shirt, and a red rose in his buttonhole; and he had a packet of photographs, of himself and his wife taken together, in his hand, and sold copies of them at threepence each—Father bought one for me, and I'm going to keep it to show Nellie. The fat lady was immense! She wore a bright blue silk gown, and rows of pearls round her neck, and a bright blue bow in her hair—such frizzy, yellow hair it is! I wish you'd been there to see her and Tiny Jim—oh, I'd forgotten, that you couldn't have seen them!"

"Never mind," said Peter, "I like hearing all about them from you. They must be very nice people to have been so kind to poor little Grace Lee: they will be sorry not to see her again."

"Yes, but glad her uncle has got her, I expect. Oh, by the way, Peter, Father's holidays begin to-morrow; he's going to take me for some outings, and he hopes Miss Perry will let you come too."

"Oh, how jolly! I'm going to be here till about the twentieth of the month, I think. Your school reopens about then, doesn't it?"

"On the nineteenth. So we've a clear fortnight together to look forward to. We'll have a splendid time with Father."

"I should have thought your Father would have gone away for his holidays, Tom."

"Well, as a rule, he takes us all to the seaside in August, but this year he hasn't been able to spare the money. I was dreadfully disappointed when I heard we couldn't go as usual, but since I've known you I haven't minded."

Peter coloured with pleasure on hearing this. He had formed a very high opinion of Tom, and it was a keen pleasure to him to know that their friendship meant a great deal to Tom as well as to himself.

"I had a letter from Nellie this morning," Tom proceeded presently; "I've brought it to read to you if you'd care to hear it?"

"Oh, indeed I should!"

"Some one must have helped her to write it, because it's quite properly spelt; it was enclosed with one to Mother from the matron of the home—she says Nellie's very good and obedient. Now, listen!"

Tom had taken Nellie's letter from his breast-pocket, and proceeded to read aloud:—

"Thank you," said Peter politely, "it's a very nice letter."

"Yes," agreed Tom. "Mother's afraid Nellie's homesick," he added gravely; "it must be a horrid feeling I should think."

"Oh, horrid!" said Peter; "I was homesick the first week I was here— I'd have given the world to have been home with Father. Oh, Tom, I do hope you'll like Father! You'll be sure to tell me exactly what you think of him, won't you?"

Tom laughed, but would make no promise. However, when, ten days later, he was introduced to Mr. Perry, he found there was no difficulty in the way of his voicing his opinion of him.

"I should think he's a very good sort, Peter," he said. "I like him."

"I'm so glad," Peter answered earnestly. "And he likes you, Tom. Oh, what do you think he said when he heard about little Grace Lee and all you did for her—"

"Why, I didn't do anything for her worth mentioning," broke in Tom.

"Oh, yes, you did. She's to thank you that she's found her uncle, and Father says very few boys would have interested themselves in a poor little show-girl, and that you're a real knight-errant!"

"Oh, Peter, you've been telling him—"

"I've told him all about you," Peter interposed, "and all about your people, too. I knew you wouldn't mind. He knows the home at Broadstairs where Nellie is, and he says it does wonders for lots of children."

"Nellie's beginning to get stronger already," Tom said cheerfully. "We heard this morning. And she's heaps happier—that's good, isn't it?"

Peter nodded. "I expect little Grace Lee is heaps happier, too," he remarked. "I wonder how she's getting on?"

The gipsies had left Hatwell Green before the termination of the Fair, having been anxious not to clash with the menagerie on the road.

"Oh, all right," Tom answered. "I haven't a doubt about that. Moses Lee told Max Sordello he might be trusted to look after his brother's child, and I'm certain he will. Oh, yes, Grace is all right."

Nellie's sojourn at Broadstairs did all it had been hoped it would. She returned home shortly before Christmas as well as she had been before her illness, and, oh, so glad to be with her own folks once more.

"Every one's been as kind as kind could be to me," she told her parents and brother, on the evening of her return, as she knelt on the hearthrug before the sitting-room fire, fondling Tim, whose eyes, brimful of affection, were raised to her face. "And I loved the sea, but I counted every day as it passed, and thought the time would never come for Mother to fetch me home. You all missed me dreadfully, you say, even Tim?"

"I believe Tim missed you as much as any of us," Tom told her. "At first after you'd gone he was always expecting you to come back— watching for you and listening for your footsteps. And now you've come—why, he can't take his eyes off you!"

"Dear little fellow!" murmured Nellie, kissing Tim on the top of his head.

"I met Miss Perry this afternoon," Mr. Burford remarked presently. "She told me a piece of news you'll be glad to hear, Tom. Her nephew's coming with his father to spend Christmas with her."

"Oh, splendid!" cried Tom. "You'll like Mr. Perry, Nellie. He spent a few days with Miss Perry in September, you know, and called to see Mother and Father then."

"To thank us, he said, for our kindness to his son," explained Mrs. Burford. "You see, Nellie dear, after you'd gone, Peter and Tom became almost inseparable, and your father took them for several outings to various places. Mr. Perry realised, I expect, that Peter, being blind, is rather a charge."

Tom's school had broken up for the Christmas holidays that afternoon, so he was able to devote the whole of his time during the next few days to his sister. They had many confidences to exchange and matters of interest only to themselves to discuss, and their Christmas presents to purchase, so they were very busy and happy. One afternoon, on coming home, after having spent a couple of hours in looking into shop windows, they found their parents in earnest conversation in the sitting-room, and heard Mrs. Burford say as they entered the room: "Oh, do let me tell them!"

"Yes, certainly," Mr. Burford answered; adding, "Your mother has good news for you, children."

"Mr. Perry has been here: he and Peter arrived last night," Mrs. Burford said eagerly, "and he has offered your father a responsible post in his London office, with a larger salary than he would get in the bank for years, and your father has accepted it. You know Mr. Perry is at the head of an important firm of shipowners, and—"

"Oh, yes," interposed Tom excitedly. "Oh, Mother, how happy you look! I see it's a very good post Father's to have, isn't it?"

"It is, my boy," Mr. Burford answered. "I really can't think what made Mr. Perry think of offering it to me."

"I can," said Tom quickly. "Peter knew you'd been rather shabbily treated at the bank, Father. I'd told him, and of course he told his father, and—"

"Oh, Tom!" Mrs. Burford broke in reprovingly; then her eyes and her husband's met, and she laughed light-heartedly.

"Hurrah for Peter Perry!" cried Tom, and Nellie, clapping her hands and dancing around the room for joy, echoed: "Hurrah for Peter Perry! Hurrah! hurrah hurrah!"