"Are there wheels to that barrow?" asked the father as he got up to leave the house for the works.
"No, no wheels. But we play that there are."
"So much the better there are none. And now, my young friend," said the father, catching up the boy and kissing him, "take care you do not fall out of that barrow and cut your nose, and take care you don't hurt the other little boy; for if you do you shall never, never, never go over to the island again. Remember that, won't you?"
"Yes," said Freddie, struggling out of his father's arms in order to get on a chair and see through the kitchen window if the other little boy's father was already coming to fetch him on that long narrow boat across those wide waters to the haven of joy, the old timber-yard beyond.
Alas! the little boy's father was not there, and to the young eyes the place looked desolate, forlorn.
"Will Frank's father come soon, Mrs. Grainger?" asked Freddie, in a tone of despair.
"Of course he will. He'll be here in a few minutes," said that good woman, who knew absolutely nothing of Hetty's promise of the previous afternoon, as she had left the house long before Freddie came back and the undertaking for another visit was given. But Mrs. Grainger was fond of children, and, if she had had any of her own, would have spoiled them beyond hope of reformation.
"Frank said he'd be up very early," said the boy in pensive complaint.
"And very early he'll be," said Mrs. Grainger, as she polished the fender with resolute vigour. "He'll be here, I warrant, before you have time to say Jack Robinson."
The phrase which Mrs. Grainger used to indicate a very little while was new to the boy, and he took it literally, and murmured softly, in a voice that did not surmount the sound of Mrs. Grainger's conflict with the fender, "Jack Robinson, Jack Robinson, Jack Robinson!" and then, finding the soothsaying unfulfilled, he lapsed into a spiritless silence, keeping his eyes fixed on the point where he knew Bramwell must come round the corner of the yard-wall.