in the catekizum," continued Frank. "Parson allers said so, and
Schoolmaster too."

Barney made a gesture expressive of much contempt at the mention of
these two dignitaries.

"Parson and Schoolmaster!" he said derisively. "Why, in course they
said so; they're paid to do it. That's how they earns their money. But
jest you please to remember, that yer not Parson, not yit Schoolmaster,
but a boy without a carikter, so shut up with yer preachin'."

Without a character! It was hard, Frank thought, that he, a respectable
Danecross boy, who had been to school, and sung in the choir, and whose
folks had always worked honest and got good wages, should have come to
this! That a vagrant tramp, who could neither read nor write, and who
got his living anyhow, should be able to call him "a boy without a
carikter!"

And the worst of it was, that it was true, he sadly thought, as he
plodded along in the dust by Barney's side. He had thrown away his
right to be considered respectable--no one would employ him if they knew
he had run away, and still less if they knew he had been "on the tramp"
with a boy like Barney.

However, as time went on, such serious thoughts troubled him less
frequently; as long as the sun shone, it was easy to avoid dwelling on
them amidst the change and uncertainty of his vagrant life.

But there were not two days alike in it. Sometimes luck, plenty to eat,
and a bed of dry straw in a barn--that was luxury. Sometimes a weary
tramp in the pouring rain, no coppers and no supper. Under these last
circumstances the "Nipper" was sharply reminded of the time when he was
Frank Darvell, and lived at Green Highlands; shivering and hungry, his
thoughts would dwell regretfully on the comfort and security he had
left. Mother's face would come before him sad and reproachful. Poor
mother! She would never have that shawl with the apple-green border
now. Her Frank, instead of making a great fortune in London town, had
become a wanderer and a tramp; and indeed after a month's companionship
with Barney he was so altered that she would hardly have known him.
Sleeping under hedges or in outhouses had not improved his clothes,
which were now stained and torn. His pale face was changed by wind and
weather, and also by a plentiful supply of dust, seldom washed off, into
a dirty brown one, and his hair, once kept so neatly cropped, now hung
about in bushy tangles like Barney's. Only his bright blue eyes, with
th