'I ran away,' I answered, and Mr. Baker looked towards the door, which Eliza had left half open.
'Eliza,' he exclaimed with a kind of chuckle, which seemed to confirm the assurance that I had found a sympathetic listener—'Eliza,' he shouted, 'the youngster's run away.'
'Has he, though?' said Eliza, coming to the threshold, where she remained standing.
'From school?' he asked, and sliding down farther into his chair, evidently prepared to enjoy my story, while Eliza stood in the doorway with her arms folded. I told it from the beginning. Every now and then Eliza would interrupt with an expression of sympathy, and Mr. Baker slapped his knee when I told him how I had thrown the hair-brush at Augustus. When I came to the end, having described the day's adventures, the sale of my watch and chain, with the theft of the fifteen shillings by the tramp, Mr. Baker shook his head, and looked into Eliza's pleasant, plain face.
'Now,' he said, 'the question is what's to be done with the youngster?'
'Supposing you got to London,' she suggested, turning to me, 'what did you think of doing?'
'I know I could do something,' I answered confidently.
'Still,' said Mr. Baker, 'you have not done much good for yourself to-day now, have you?'
'No,' I was compelled to admit, 'not to-day.'
'And you have no money left?' cried Eliza.