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.”