“Humph! Trot him out.”
“Obed Coleby,” said the master in a severe voice.
“Coleby, eh?”
“Yes, sir. Son of a miserable tramp who died some years ago in the House. No name with him, so we called him after the town.”
“Humph!” said the doctor, as the little fellow came, full of eagerness and excitement, after kicking at Pillett, who put out a leg to hinder his advance.
The doctor frowned, and gazed sternly at the boy, taking in carefully his handsome, animated face, large blue eyes, curly yellow hair, and open forehead: not that his hair had much opportunity for curling—the workhouse barber stopped that.
The boy’s face was as white as those of his companions, but it did not seem depressed and inanimate, for, though it was thin and white, his mouth was rosy and well-curved, and the slightly parted lips showed his pearly white teeth.
“Humph!” said the doctor, as the bright eyes gazed boldly into his.
“Where’s your bow, sir?” said the master sternly.
“Oh! I forgot,” said the boy quickly; and he made up for his lapse by bowing first with one and then the other hand.