"Because we are going there, ma'am."
"What! You two babies? Who are you going with?"
"No one, ma'am. We must walk."
"Nonsense, child—walk indeed!"
"Oh, we can walk very well," Frank said, adding with a sigh, "We're beggars, you know."
The woman was kind-hearted, but stupid, and, moreover, in a hurry. She looked round for a policeman, intending to call his attention to the children; but there was no policeman to be seen, so she compromised the matter with her conscience by saying—
"I don't know any way of getting to Liverpool except by train, and that costs a lot of money. Go home now, like good children. Here's a penny for you, and I'm in a great hurry."
"Thank you, ma'am," Frank said gratefully. And then, as she sped away, he turned to Fred, saying, "By train—that's what she said. Then, Fred, as long as we keep near the train we're on the right road to Liverpool."
Fred, refreshed by sound sleep and a big hunch of bread, set forth gaily, skipping along beside the weary, gentle-looking elder brother, for whom, alas! Sleep had brought little refreshment, and who had stinted his breakfast that he might have bread in his pocket for Fred. Thus they left the town, the name of which they never knew, but I think it must have been Cirencester.
