Duke was so
afraid you might be."
And Tim--where was he?--standing outside in the porch, but smiling to
himself--not afraid of being forgotten, for he had a trustful nature.
"It's easy to see as the old gentleman and lady is terrible fond of
master and missy," he thought. "But they must be terrible clever folk in
these parts to have writing outside of the house even," for his glance
had fallen on the quaintly-carved letters on the lintel, "Niks sonder
Arbitt." "I wonder now what that there writing says," he reflected.
But he was not allowed to wonder long. A few moments more and there came
the summons his faithful little heart had been sure would come.
"Tim, Tim--where is Tim? Come and see our Grandpapa and our Grandmamma,
Tim," and two pairs of little hot hands dragged him into the parlour.
It was not at all like his dream, but it was far grander than any room
he had ever been in before, and never afterwards did the boy forget the
strange sweet perfume which seemed a part of it all--the scent of the
dried rose-leaves in the jars, though he did not then know what it was.
But it always came back to him when he thought of that first
evening--the beginning to him of a good and honest and useful life--when
the tall old gentleman and the sweet little old lady laid their hands on
his curly head and blessed him for what he had done and promised to be
his friends.
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