Part 4 (2/2)

”Why, Barney,” he said, ”it's night still. What do yer want to go on fur? The old gentleman ull want to see us afore we start; we mustn't go yet.”

Barney frowned darkly.

”I niver want to see that old cove, niver no more,” he said; and this was truer than Frank thought. ”I calls it a mean act to make a poor chap work for a bit o' supper. He's no jintleman, he isn't.”

”Well,” said Frank, ”I should like to a said 'Thank yer;' it seems ongrateful.”

”Then you'd better stop and do it,” said Barney impatiently. ”I'm off.

I'm not goin' to stay an work in that blessed old garding any more. You can come arter me.”

He was already half-way down the loft steps as he spoke, with his mice's cage under his arm, when he looked back over his shoulder at his partner's slight figure standing at the top in the dim light watching him. Turning suddenly, he was by Frank's side again in two long-legged strides.

”Good-bye, Nipper,” he whispered, ”good-bye, old pal!”

He patted the boy on the shoulder gently, and soon with stealthy swiftness pa.s.sed from sight, and seemed to vanish in the grey morning mist.

Then Frank, wondering a little, but more sleepy than curious, crept back to his still warm nest in the hay, and fell asleep again without loss of time.

He dreamt that Barney had come back to fetch him, and opened his eyes some hours later expecting to see him; but he was not there. Instead of him there was Andrew the gardener just coming up the steps in a great hurry.

He seized Frank roughly by the arm.

”Oh, you're here, are you, young scamp?” he said. Then looking round the loft.

”Where's t'other?”

”He's gone on before,” answered Frank, surprised and confused at this treatment.

”Oh, I daresay,” said Andrew, giving him a shake. ”And I suppose you don't even know what he's got in his pocket. You're a nice young innercent. You jest come along with me.”

He hurried the boy along, holding him tight by the collar of his smock, and thrust him into the room with the lattice-window, where the rector had been writing the night before. He was there now, walking feverishly backwards and forwards, and looking thoroughly ill at ease.

”Here's one on 'em, sir,” said Andrew triumphantly introducing the small trembling form of Frank, ”an' t'other's not far off, I reckon.”

The rector looked more than ever perturbed.

”Where was the boy, Andrew?” he asked. ”Does he know anything of the matter?”

”He was in the loft, and he's just the most owdacious young rascal; says t'other one's gone on before. He'll know more about it, I fancy, after a day or two in the lock-up.”

Andrew administered a rousing shake to his captive as he spoke. He was not ill-pleased that the rector should at last see the result of encouraging tramps.

Hitherto Frank had been in a state of puzzled misery, and had scarcely understood what was going on; but when Andrew mentioned the word lock-up, the whole matter was clear to him. Barney had stolen something; that was the meaning of his abrupt departure before daylight.

The rector looked at him pityingly.

”Where is your companion, my boy?” he said.

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