“Mother said she know’d no good ud come of my being at a doctor’s, and that it all meant body-snatching and ’section, and that I shouldn’t get into trouble for no one. She said if I stopped I should be took up by the perlice; and I was scared enough, and did as she said, and she took me with her down in the country.”
“In the country?” cried Hendon. “Where did you go?”
“I d’know,” said the boy. “Everywhere’s, I think. Tramping about, and sleeping in workusses; and it’s been very cold and mis’able, and I’m very fond o’ the old woman; only somehow—”
“Well, Bob, why do you stop?” said Hendon.
“Dunno, sir,” said the boy, looking very hard at Rich’s white hand. “I wouldn’t ha’ done it, on’y she was took bad, and they put her in one of the workas ’firmaries, and wouldn’t let me stop along with her. They shoved me in a school as was all whitewash, with a lot more boys; and I got in a row with some on ’em, and we had a fight, and the master caned me, and I hooked it; and please, Miss, mayn’t I stay?”
Chapter Seventeen.
A Jar Wrongly Labelled.
James Poynter blustered and threatened; but the only proceedings he took were the sending of threatening letters to Hendon—letters which Mark advised him to throw into the fire.