And
looking up he saw a figure hovering over him, all white and shining like
an angel. But when he looked at the face--though it was so beautiful--he
knew he had seen it before. It was that of his poor mother; he knew at
once it was she, though in life he could only remember her wan and worn
and often weeping.
"Take courage, my boy--a new life is beginning for you. Have no fear."
And then, just as it seemed to him that little Pamela turned round,
holding out her hand to lead him forward, he woke!
But his dream left a hopeful feeling in his heart. It was still very
early morning and all his companions were asleep. Tim got up and very
quietly crept out of the sort of one-sided tent, made by drawing a
sail-cloth downwards from the top of the van, where he and the other
boys slept. He walked a little way over the rough moor, for there was no
road, scarcely even a track, and looked down to where, in the clear thin
morning light, the canal lay glittering below. Then he gazed over the
waste in front. Which way would they be going? Would they skirt the
canal more closely or branch off and strike away from it? Tim could not
tell. But he resolved to keep his eyes and ears open and to find out.
All that day the gipsy vans jolted along the rough cart-track across the
moor.
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