Our Frank | Page 9

in a
voice of despair. "No, of course I don't want a boy. If I had my will I'd
have no boys in the place--I'm sick of the sight of boys."
He bent his eyes on a newspaper before him, and seemed to consider
the matter disposed of; but Frank made one more timid venture.
"Please, sir," he said, going close up to the desk, "I'd work very stiddy."
Mr Green peered over his high desk at the sound of the small persistent
voice, and frowned darkly.
"Clear out!" he said with a nod of his head towards the door; "don't stop
here talking nonsense. Out you go!"
Frank dared not stay; he slunk out into the street crushed and
disappointed, for he felt he had not even had a chance. "He might a
listened to a chap," he said to himself.
Just then the church clock struck one, dinner time, and a convenient
doorstep near, so he took the roll out of the breast of his smock-frock
and sat down to eat it. As he had never been used to very luxurious
meals it satisfied him pretty well; and then he watched the people
passing to and fro, and wondered what he could do to earn some money.
The chair-factory was hopeless certainly, but there must surely be some

one in Wickham who wanted a boy to run errands, or dig gardens, or
help in stables. What should he do? Without money he must starve; he
could neither go on to London or back to Green Highlands.
The street was almost deserted now, for all the people who had dinners
waiting for them had hurried home to eat them, and no one had noticed
the rustic little figure in the grey gaberdine crouched on the doorstep.
Suddenly a dreadful feeling of loneliness seized on Frank, such as he
had not felt since leaving home. Even the great solitary wood had not
seemed so cold and unfriendly as this town, full of human faces, where
the very houses seemed to stare blankly upon him. He thought of the
kind baker woman, and immediately her words sounded in his ear:
"There's no place like home." If he went to her she would try to
persuade him to go back, and that he was still determined not to do; but
his golden pictures of the future had faded a good deal since that
morning, and as he sat and looked wistfully at the hard red houses
opposite he could not help his eyes filling with tears. Fortunately, he
thought, there was no one to see them; but still he felt ashamed of
crying, and bent his head on his folded arms. Sitting thus for some
minutes, he was presently startled by a voice close by.
"What's up, little un?" it said.
Frank looked up quickly, and saw that the question came from a boy
standing in front of him. He was a very tall, thin boy, about fifteen
years old, with a dark face and narrow twinkling black eyes. All his
clothes were ragged, and none of them seemed to fit him properly, for
his coat-sleeves were inconveniently long, and his trousers so short that
they showed several inches of brown bony ankles. On his head he wore
a rusty black felt hat with half a brim, which was turned down over his
eyes; his feet were bare; and he carried under his arm a cage full of
nimble crawling white mice.
After a minute's observation Frank decided in his mind that this must
be a "tramp." Now and then these wandering folks passed through
Danecross and the neighbourhood on their way to large towns; and, as a
rule, people looked askance at them. It was awkward to have them
about when ducklings and chickens were being reared, and Frank had

always heard them spoken of with contempt and suspicion. Just now,
however, any sympathy appeared valuable, and he smiled back at the
twinkling black eyes, and answered:
"There's nowt the matter with me. I'm wantin' work."
The boy seemed to think this an amusing idea, for he grinned widely,
showing an even row of very white teeth. Then he sat down on the
doorstep, put his cage of mice on the ground, and began to whistle; his
bright eyes keenly observing Frank from top to toe meanwhile, and
finally resting on his thick hobnailed boots. Then he asked briefly:
"Farm-work?"
"I'd ratherly get any other," answered Frank. And feeling it his turn to
make some inquiries, he said:
"What do yer carry them mice fur?"
The boy looked at him for a minute in silence; then he chuckled, and
gave a long low whistle.
"I say, little chap," he said confidentially, "ain't you a flat! Just rather."
Seeing on Frank's face no sign