"But is there canals near your place?"
Pamela's face fell.
"I don't know. I never thought of that," she said. "But I daresay
there's one that goes to not far off from there. And Mick would never
catch us then, would he, Tim? We'd go so fast, wouldn't we?"
"They don't go that fast--not canal boats," replied Tim. "Still I don't
think as Mick'd ever think of looking for us there. That'd be the best
of it."
But just then the rough voice of Mick himself was heard calling to them
to come back; for they had wandered to some little distance from the
other children, who were quarrelling and shouting near the vans.
"Come back you brats, will ye?" he roared. And the poor little things,
like frightened sheep, followed by Tim, hurried back. Pamela shuddered
at the sound of their jailor's voice in a way the boy could not bear to
see. Mick had never yet actually struck her or her brother so as to hurt
them; but Tim well knew that any day it might come to that.
"And a blow from his heavy hand--such a blow as he's given me many a
time when he's been tipsy--would go near to killing them tender sort o'
fairy-like critturs," said the boy to himself, shuddering in his turn.
"He's been extra sober for a good bit, but onst he gets to the fair
there's no saying.
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