Part 2 (1/2)

”That's fine, that is,” said the boy when the last notes of Frank's clear voice died away. ”Do yer know any more?”

”I know a side more,” said Frank, ”and hymns too.”

”Can yer sing 'Home Sweet Home?'” asked the boy.

”Ah.”

But this song was not so successful, for after the chorus had been sung with great animation, and the second verse eagerly expected, something choked and gurgled in Frank's throat so that he could not sing any more.

All that night, as he lay on the bed of shavings, which he shared with his new companion, he waked at intervals to hear those words echoing through the woods: ”Home Sweet Home--There's no place like Home.” But with the morning sun these sounds vanished, and he began his onward journey cheerily, refreshed by his rest and food. As he went down the cart-track the boy had pointed out to him he sang sc.r.a.ps of songs to himself, the birds twittered busily above his head, and the distant sound of the deaf man's lathe came more and more faintly to his ears.

He felt sure now that he was on his way to make his fortune, and the wood seemed full of voices which said, ”Lunnon Town, Lunnon Town,” over and over again. The thought of his mother's sad face was, it is true, a little depressing. ”But,” he said to himself, ”how pleased she'll be when I come back rich!” Then he considered what sort of shawl he would buy for her with the first money he earned--whether it should be a scarlet one, or mixed colours with an apple-green border, like one he had seen once in a shop at Daylesbury.

These fancies beguiled the way, and he was surprised when, after what seemed a short time, he found himself at the edge of the wood, and in a broad high-road; that must be the Wickham Road, and he had still three miles to walk before reaching the town and the chair factories, where he meant to ask for work as a first step on his way to London.

It was not a busy-looking road, and the carts and people who pa.s.sed now and then seemed to have plenty of time and no wish to hurry; still, to Frank, who was used to the solitude of Green Highlands and the deeper quiet of the woods, it felt like getting into the world, and he looked down at his clothes, and wondered how they would suit a large town. He wore a smock, high brown leather gaiters reaching almost to his thighs, and very thick hobnailed boots. He wished he had his Sunday coat on instead of the smock, but the rest of the things would do very well, and they were so strong and good that they would last a long time. So this point settled he trudged on again, till, by twelve o'clock, he saw Wickham in the distance with its gabled red houses and tall factory buildings. And now that he was so near, his courage forsook him a little, and he felt that he was a very small weak boy, and that the factories were full of bustling work-people who would take no notice of him. He stood irresolute in the street, wondering to whom he ought to apply, and presently his eye was attracted to the window of a small baker's shop near. Through this he saw a kind-looking round-faced woman, who stood behind the counter knitting. Just in front of her there was, curled round, a sleek black cat, and she stopped in her work now and then to scratch its head gently with her knitting-pin. Somehow this encouraged Frank, and entering he put his question timidly, in his broad Buckinghams.h.i.+re accent.

The woman smiled at him good-naturedly.

”From the country, I reckon?” she said, not answering his question.

”Ah,” replied Frank, ”I be.”

”You're a dillicate little feller to be trampin' about alone seekin'

work,” she said, considering him thoughtfully. ”Is yer mother livin'?”

”Ah,” said Frank again, casting longing eyes at a crisp roll on the counter.

”Then why don't yer bide at home,” asked the woman, ”and work there?”

”I want to get more wage,” said Frank, who was feeling hungrier every minute with the smell of the bread. ”I'll be obliged to yer if ye'll tell me how I could git taken on at the factory.”

”You must go and ask at the overseer's office up next street, where you see a bra.s.s plate on the door--name of Green. But bless yer 'art, we've lads enough and to spare in Wickham; I doubt they won't want a country boy who knows nought of the trade.”

”I can try,” said Frank; ”and I learn things quick. Schoolmaster said so.”

The woman shook her head.

”You'd be better at home, my little lad,” she said, ”till you're a bit older. There's no place like home.”

Those same words had been sounding in Frank's ears all night. They seemed to meet him everywhere, he thought, like a sort of warning.

Nevertheless he was not going to give up his plan, and having learned the direction of the overseer's office he turned to leave the shop.

”And here's summat to set yer teeth in as you go along,” said the woman, holding out a long roll of bread. ”Growing lads should allus be eatin'.”

”Thank you, ma'am,” said Frank, and he took off his cap politely, as he had been taught at school, and went his way.

”As pretty behaved as possible,” murmured the woman as she looked after him, ”and off with his hat like a prince. What sort o' folks does he belong to, I wonder!”

The overseer's office was a small dark room with a high desk in it, at which sat a sandy-haired red-faced man, with his hat very much on the back of his head. He was talking in a loud bl.u.s.tering voice to several workmen, and as Frank entered he heard the last part of the speech.