“Yes, that ragged old dirty chap,” he cried. “You can see him out of your window, can’t you?”
“I can sometimes,” I said; “but I can’t now.”
“That’s because he’s sneaking along under the wall. Never mind; we’ll pay him some day if he only comes out.”
“Doesn’t he come out then?”
“No. He’s nobody’s boy, and sleeps in the sheds over there. One of Brownsmith’s men picked him up in the road, and brought him home in one of the market carts. Brownsmith sent him to the workhouse, but he always runs away and comes back. He’s just like a monkey, ain’t he? Here, I must go; but I say, why don’t you ask your ma to let you come and play with us; we have rare games down the meadows, bathing, and wading, and catching dace?”
“I should like to come,” I said dolefully.
“Ah, there’s no end of things to see down there—water-rats and frogs; and there’s a swan’s nest, with the old bird sitting; and don’t the old cock come after you savage if you go near! Oh, we do have rare games there on half-holidays! I wish you’d come.”
“I should like to,” I said.
“Ain’t too proud; are you?”
“Oh no!” I said, shaking my head.