Jeffreys spared them the trouble and stepped into the street, determined to die before he laid himself open to such an indignity again.

His last night's experience at a common lodging-house did not tempt him to seek shelter again now, and as it was a fine mild night even at that time of year he trudged out of York into one of the suburbs, where at least everything was clean and quiet. He had the good fortune in a country lane to come across a wagon laid up by the roadside, just inside a field--a lodging far more tempting than that offered by Mr Josephs, and considerably cheaper. The fatigues and troubles of the day operated like a feather-bed for the worn-out and dispirited outcast, and he slept soundly, dreaming of Forrester, and the bookshop, and the dog Julius.

Next morning the weary search began again. Jeffreys, as he trudged back to the city, felt that he was embarked on a forlorn hope. Yet a man must live, and a sovereign cannot last for ever. He pa.s.sed a railway embankment where a gang of navvies were hard at work. As he watched them he felt half envious. They had work to do, they had homes to return to at night, they had characters, perhaps. Most of them were big strong fellows like himself. Why should he not become one of them? He fancied he could wheel a barrow, and ply a crowbar, and dig with a spade, as well as any of them; he was not afraid of hard work any more than they were, and the wages that kept a roof over their heads would surely keep a roof over his.

As he sat on a bank by the roadside and watched them, he had almost resolved to walk across to the foreman and ask for a job, when the sound of voices close to him arrested him.

They were boys' voices, and their talk evidently referred to himself, "Come along, Teddy," said one. "He won't hurt."

"I'm afraid," said the other. "He's so ugly."

"Perhaps that's how he gets his living--scaring the crows," said the first speaker.

"He looks as if he meant to kill us."

"I shall fight him if he tries."

Jeffreys looked round and had a view of the valiant speaker and his companion.

They were two neatly dressed little fellows, hand-in-hand, and evidently brothers. The younger--he who considered his life in danger--was about eight, his intrepid brother being apparently about a year his senior.

They had little satchels over their shoulders, and parti-coloured cricket caps on their little curly heads. Their faces were bright and shining, the knees of their stockings were elaborately darned, the little hands were unmistakably ink-stained, and their pockets were bulged out almost to bursting.

Such was the apparition which confronted the Bolsover "cad" as he sat slowly making up his mind to become a labourer.

The younger brother drew back and began to cry, as soon as he perceived that the terrible villain on the bank had turned and was regarding them.

"Freddy, Freddy, run!" he cried.

"I shan't," said Freddy with a big heave of his chest. "I'm not afraid." The fluttering heart beneath that manly bosom belied the words, as Freddy, dragging his brother by the hand, walked forward.

Jeffreys did not exactly know what to do. Were he to rise and approach the little couple the consequences might be disastrous. Were he to remain where he was or skulk away, he would be allowing them to believe him the ruffian they thought him, and that lane would become a daily terror to their little lives. The only thing was to endeavour to make friends.

"What are you afraid of?" said he, in as gentle a manner as he could.

"I won't hurt you."

The sound of his voice caused the smaller boy to scream outright, and even the elder trembled a little as he kept himself full front to the enemy.

"You little donkeys, I'm a schoolboy myself," said Jeffreys. This announcement had a magical effect. The younger brother stopped short in his scream, and Freddy boldly took two steps forward.

"Are you a boy?" inquired the latter.

"Of course I am. I was in the top form. I'm older than you, though."

"I'm ten," replied the proud owner of that venerable age.

"I'm nine in February," chimed in the still-fluttered junior.

"I'm about as old as you two put together. How old's that, Freddy?"

"Nineteen," said Freddy.

By this time Jeffreys had gradually descended the bank and stood close to the two small brothers.

"Bravo, young 'un, you can do sums, I see!"

"Compound division and vulgar fractions," said Freddy confidentially.

Jeffreys gave a whistle of admiration which won the heart of his hearer.

"Are you going to school now?" inquired the latter.

"No; I've left school," said Jeffreys, "last week."

"Last week! why, it's only the middle of the term. Were you sent away?"

Jeffreys began to feel uncomfortable in the presence of this small cross-examiner.

"I got into trouble and had to leave."

"I know why," said the younger brother, plucking up courage.

"Why?" inquired Jeffreys, with an amused smile.

"Because you were so ugly!"

Jeffreys laughed. "Thank you," said he.

"Was it because you killed the master?" asked the more matter-of-fact Freddy.

Poor Jeffreys winced before this random shot, and hastened to divert the conversation.

"Whose school do you go to?" he inquired.

"Trimble's; we hate her," said the two youths in a breath.

"Why? Does she whack you?"

"No; but she worries us, and young Trimble's worse still. Do you know the school?"

"No. What's the name of the house?"

"Oh, Galloway House, in Ebor Road. It wasn't so bad when Fison was there," continued the open-hearted Freddy; "but now he's gone.

Trimble's a cad."

"We hate her," chimed in the original Teddy.

"We hope the new master will be like Fison, but I don't believe Trimble can get any one to come," said Freddy.