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