A wayworn, weary little figure he was, with a white face and mournful blue eyes; he had a shrinking, frightened air, like some hunted creature of the woods; and here and there the dry brown leaves had stuck to his clothes. Holding out his hand, and speaking in a low voice, for he felt ashamed of begging when it came to the point, he said:
“Please can yer give me a morsel of bread?”
The man, who had kind slow brown eyes and a very placid face, looked at him without speaking, and shook his head at the outstretched hand. But the boy answered with a wide-mouthed grin:
“He’s hard o’ hearin’, my pardner is. He don’t know what yer say.”
He then rose, and going close to the man shouted shrilly in his ear:
“Little chap wants summat t’eat.”
The man nodded.
“He’s welcome to jine at tea,” he said, “and he can work it out arterwards. Where dost come from?” to Frank.
Frank hesitated; then he thought of a village several miles beyond Danecross, and answered boldly, “Dinton.”
“And where art goin’?”