"Don't be afraid, Fred. We're quite safe, and to-morrow we—will—search for muddie." During the night, the train was coupled on to that expected from the north, and before the boys awoke, they were stationary in another town, far enough from Rugeley. They had a glimmer of light now, but for a few minutes they could not imagine where they were. Then they remembered their escape, and how they had crept in here to hide; but that the van had moved since they entered it they did not in the least suspect. "Oh, Fwank, I'm so hungry!" said Fred. "Here's some bread I kept for you, because I know you're such a hungry boy. Eat it up." Fred required no pressing; the bread disappeared. "Where's your bread, Fwank?" "I'm not hungry yet. When we get out we'll buy some more." "When s'all we get out?" "When they open the door." After some time, Fred got so hungry, and said so with such increasing emphasis, that at last Frank was driven to call out; but no one heard him. The vans were again on a siding waiting for a train to take them to their destination further south. The greater part of the train had gone on to London. Hungry and frightened, the forlorn pair sat side by side, tightly clasped in each other's arms. They fell asleep at last, and when they awoke the train was moving. "Oh, Fwank, they're wunning away with us!" "But I suppose they are going to Liverpool," answered Frank; "and won't that be nice?" "Yes, but I'm so hungry!" "So am I," admitted poor Frank; "but, then, fancy if we find we're safe in Liverpool!" As he spoke the train slackened its pace, and finally stopped. Presently a man opened the door of the van, and pulled out the big box thrust in at Rugeley. He went off with it without seeing the boys, who were behind the door. Poor little souls! They rejoiced at this escape, yet surely it would have been well had they been discovered and sent back to Rugeley. The man left the door open, and Frank peeped out. There were several men about, but they were all busy, and the boys got out of the van unperceived. They looked very unlike poor Janet's neatly dressed and spotlessly clean little boys. Frank had got dusty in his prison closet; they had both trudged the dusty road for hours, and had finally slept in a railway van on a sack of wool. Of each and all these adventures they bore visible traces; their natty little sailor suits were all awry, their curly hair full of bits of wool. They really looked like what they wished to pass for—two little beggars. As they looked about, hoping to see some one who would tell them where they were, though they felt sure they were in Liverpool, the station-master spied them. "Off the platform, you little ragamuffins," he shouted. "We've had quite enough of pickpockets here already." Utterly unused to unkindness, except from grandma, Frank restrained his brother, who would have fled, and, taking his hand, walked up to the station-master, and said— "Please, sir, is not this Liverpool?"