"In London."
"London, eh! But you've a long way to go."
A sob rose and tore at his throat. Still a long way to go, and darkness was coming on—black, inky darkness, uncut by familiar street-lamps.
"Come home with me, Tommy, and my missis will sleep you for the night."
With a feeling of perfect confidence, the child slipped his small fingers into the horny hand of the farm labourer, and half an hour later, washed and fed, he was sleeping in a big bed amongst a heterogeneous collection of curly heads.
"Look 'ere, Bill," said the labourer's wife as she folded up the neat little garments provided by unwilling ratepayers, "'e's runned away from that there barrack school."
"I knowed that," said Bill, knocking the ashes out from his clay pipe. "It ain't the first time as I've met youngsters on the road, and, mebbe, it won't be the last, as folks in the village have been before the beak for harbouring them, poor little devils!"