"He was in the loft, and he's just the most owdacious young rascal; says t'other one's gone on before. He'll know more about it, I fancy, after a day or two in the lock-up." Andrew administered a rousing shake to his captive as he spoke. He was not ill-pleased that the rector should at last see the result of encouraging tramps. Hitherto Frank had been in a state of puzzled misery, and had scarcely understood what was going on; but when Andrew mentioned the word lock-up, the whole matter was clear to him. Barney had stolen something; that was the meaning of his abrupt departure before daylight. The rector looked at him pityingly. "Where is your companion, my boy?" he said. Frank did not answer; he stood perfectly passive in Andrew's hands, and cast his eyes on the ground. "Don't yer hear his reverence?" shouted the latter in the boy's ear. "I dunno," said Frank faintly. "You'd better let me run him over to Aylesford and have him locked up, sir," said Andrew. "He'd find a tongue then." Frank raised his frightened blue eyes entreatingly to the rector's face without speaking; he saw something in the kind rugged features which encouraged him, for with sudden energy he wriggled himself loose from Andrew and threw himself on his knees. "Don't let them lock me up, sir," he sobbed. "I've allers bin a honest lad." "Was it your companion who broke into this room this morning and stole my inkstand?" pursued the rector. "I dunno," repeated Frank. "I didn't see him steal nuthin', I was asleep." "Would he be likely to do it?" "I dunno," said Frank under his breath, deeply conscious that he _did_ know very well. "Is he your brother?" "No," cried Frank with a sudden burst of eloquence, "he's no kin to me. I'm Frank Darvell's lad, what lives at Green Highlands. And Parson knows me--and Schoolmaster. And I've niver stolen nowt in my life. Don't ye let 'em lock me up!" "A likely story!" growled Andrew. "Honest lads don't go trampin' round with thieves." The rector, whose face had softened at the boy's appeal, seemed to pull himself together sternly at this remark; he frowned, and said, turning away a little from Frank's tear-stained face: "I would gladly believe you, my boy, but it is too improbable. As Andrew says, honest boys do not associate with thieves." "Ask any of 'em at Danecross, sir," pleaded poor Frank in despair; "anyone ull tell ye I belong to honest folk." "That's no proof you're not a thief," put in the persistent Andrew; "there's many a rotten apple hangs on a sound tree." The rector looked up impatiently. "Leave the boy alone with me, Andrew," he said, "I wish to ask him some questions;" and as the man left the room he seated himself in his big leather chair and beckoned Frank to him. "Come here," he said, "and answer me truthfully." Frank stood at his elbow, trembling still in fear of being sent to prison, and yet with a faint hope stealing into his heart.