"He never uttered a word, but ate his breakfast, and enjoyed it thoroughly."—WILTON SCHOOL, page 131.
Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Blewcome were conversing confidentially together at the other end of the van; and, from what Harry could gather, this appeared to be the state of the case:
The labours and responsibilities of the menagerie were becoming a little too much for the proprietor and his wife. They could not afford to pay a man to help, nor did they care to enter into partnership with any one. They must pick up some lad who would do all sorts of odd jobs, and require nothing more than his keep. Plenty of old clothes were always to be found. And when Harry heard them congratulating themselves on their "find," he knew they alluded to him, and that they had marked out his future for him as a member of their enterprising profession.
Shortly afterwards, they told him their plans, and what they wanted him to do, and what they would do for him in return; and they spoke so kindly, that poor, friendless, homeless Harry was thankful he had fallen in with them, and began to feel a trifle happier.
When his father came home, he would be sure to search for him and find him, of course. Harry flattered himself. Till then, what better could he do than stay where he thought he should find kindness. And in this last supposition he was right. First impressions go a long way. Harry took to his patrons at once, and did everything they told him willingly and obediently, though at times the drudgery lay very hard upon him. But the excitement and freshness of his strange new life kept him up; and, moreover, he had a home, and food, and clothes, such as they were; and when he ran away from school, he never knew, or even dreamt, how he should get these. So he must not mind the drudgery.
And Mr and Mrs Blewcome, in their turn, soon came to treat him quite as a child of their own; so that one day, as they were rumbling along, Harry (it is true, after numerous questionings) opened his heart to the motherly Mrs Blewcome, and told her all his story.
But often at night he would lie awake for hours; realising then in the quiet, when there was no stir to attract his thoughts, how utterly lonely he was in the world, and his lips would send out his one sad burthen:
"Mamma, mamma, why did you die? why did you die?"