Bobby Frog resumed his whistling, at the exact bar where he had left off, and went on his way. He was used to rebuffs, and didn't mind them.

But when he had spent all the forenoon in receiving rebuffs, had made no progress whatever in his efforts, and began to feel hungry, he ceased the whistling and became grave.

"This looks serious," he said, pausing in front of a pastry-cook's shop window. "But for that there plate gla.s.s _wot_ a blow hout I might 'ave!

Beggin' might be tried with advantage. It's agin the law, no doubt, but it ain't a _sin_. Yes, I'll try beggin'."

But our Arab was not a natural beggar, if we may say so. He scorned to whine, and did not even like to ask. His spirit was much more like that of a highwayman than a beggar.

Proceeding to a quiet neighbourhood which seemed to have been forgotten by the police, he turned down a narrow lane and looked out for a subject, as a privateer might search among "narrows" for a prize. He did not search long. An old lady soon hove in sight. She seemed a suitable old lady, well-dressed, little, gentle, white-haired, a tottering gait, and a benign aspect.

Bobby went straight up and planted himself in front of her.

"Please, ma'am, will you oblige me with a copper?"

The poor old lady grew pale. Without a word she tremblingly, yet quickly, pulled out her purse, took therefrom a shilling, and offered it to the boy.

"Oh! marm," said Bobby, who was alarmed and conscience-smitten at the result of his scheme, "I didn't mean for to frighten you. Indeed I didn't, an' I won't 'ave your money at no price."

Saying which he turned abruptly round and walked away.

"Boy, boy, _boy_!" called the old lady in a voice so entreating, though tremulous, that Bobby felt constrained to return.

"You're a most remarkable boy," she said, putting the shilling back into her purse.

"I'm sorry to say, marm, that you're not the on'y indiwidooal as 'olds that opinion."

"What do you mean by your conduct, boy?"

"I mean, marm, that I'm wery 'ard up. _Uncommon_ 'ard up; that I've tried to git vork an' can't git it, so that I'm redooced to beggary.

But, I ain't a 'ighway robber, marm, by no means, an' don't want to frighten you hout o' your money if you ain't willin' to give it."

The little tremulous old lady was so pleased with this reply that she took half-a-crown out of her purse and put it into the boy's hand. He looked at her in silent surprise.

"It ain't a _copper_, marm!"

"I know that. It is half-a-crown, and I willingly give it you because you are an honest boy."

"But, marm," said Bobby, still holding out the piece of silver on his palm, "I _ain't_ a honest boy. I'm a thief!"

"Tut, tut, don't talk nonsense; I don't believe you."

"Vel now, this beats all that I ever did come across. 'Ere's a old 'ooman as I tells as plain as mud that I'm a thief, an' n.o.body's better able to give a opinion on that pint than myself, yet she _won't_ believe it!"

"No, I won't," said the old lady with a little nod and a smile, "so, put the money in your pocket, for you're an honest boy."

"Vell, it's pleasant to 'ear that, any'ow," returned Bobby, placing the silver coin in a vest pocket which was always kept in repair for coins of smaller value.

"Where do you live, boy? I should like to come and see you."

"My residence, marm, ain't a mansion in the vest-end. No, nor yet a willa in the subarbs. I'm afear'd, marm, that I live in a district that ain't quite suitable for the likes of you to wisit. But--"

Here Bobby paused, for at the moment his little friend Tim Lumpy recurred to his memory, and a bright thought struck him.

"Well, boy, why do you pause?"

"I was on'y thinkin', marm, that if you wants to befriend us poor boys-- they calls us waifs an' strays an' all sorts of unpurlite names--you've on'y got to send a sov, or two to Miss Annie Macpherson, 'Ome of Hindustry, Commercial Street, Spitalfields, an' you'll be the means o'

doin' a world o' good--as I 'eard a old gen'l'm with a white choker on say the wery last time I was down there 'avin' a blow out o' bread an'

soup."

"I know the lady and the Inst.i.tution well, my boy," said the old lady, "and will act on your advice, but--"

Ere she finished the sentence Bobby Frog had turned and fled at the very top of his speed.

"Stop! stop! stop!" exclaimed the old lady in a weakly shout.

But the "remarkable boy" would neither stop nor stay. He had suddenly caught sight of a policeman turning into the lane, and forthwith took to his heels, under a vague and not unnatural impression that if that limb of the law found him in possession of a half-crown he would refuse to believe his innocence with as much obstinacy as the little old lady had refused to believe his guilt.

On reaching home he found his mother alone in a state of amused agitation which suggested to his mind the idea of Old Tom.

"Wot, bin at it again, mother?"

"No, no, Bobby, but somethin's happened which amuses me much, an' I can't keep it to myself no longer, so I'll tell it to you, Bobby."

"Fire away, then, mother, an' remember that the law don't compel no one to criminate hisself."

"You know, Bob, that a good while ago our Matty disappeared. I saw that the dear child was dyin' for want o' food an' warmth an' fresh air, so I thinks to myself, `why shouldn't I put 'er out to board wi' rich people for nothink?'"

"A wery correct notion, an' cleverer than I gave you credit for. I'm glad to ear it too, for I feared sometimes that you'd bin an' done it."

"Oh! Bobby, how could you ever think that! Well, I put the baby out to board with a family of the name of Twitter. Now it seems, all unbeknown to me, Mrs Twitter is a great helper at the George Yard Ragged Schools, where our Hetty has often seen her; but as we've bin used never to speak about the work there, as your father didn't like it, of course I know'd nothin' about Mrs Twitter bein' given to goin' there. Well, it seems she's very free with her money and gives a good deal away to poor people." (She's not the only one, thought the boy.) "So what does the Bible-nurse do when she hears about poor Hetty's illness but goes off and asks Mrs Twitter to try an' git her a situation."

"`Oh! I know Hetty,' says Mrs Twitter at once, `That nice girl that teaches one o' the Sunday-school cla.s.ses. Send her to me. I want a nurse for our baby,' that's for Matty, Bob--"

"What! _our_ baby!" exclaimed the boy with a sudden blaze of excitement.

"Yes--our baby. She calls it _hers_!"

"Well, now," said Bobby, after recovering from the fit of laughter and thigh-slapping into which this news had thrown him, "if this don't beat c.o.c.kfightin' all to nuffin'! why, mother, Hetty'll know baby the moment she claps eyes on it."

"Of course she will," said Mrs Frog; "it is really very awkward, an' I can't think what to do. I'm half afraid to tell Hetty."

"Oh! don't tell her--don't tell her," cried the boy, whose eyes sparkled with mischievous glee. "It'll be sich fun! If I 'ad on'y the chance to stand be'ind a door an' see the meetin' I wouldn't exchange it--no not for a feed of pork sa.s.sengers an' suet pud'n. I must go an' tell this to Tim Lumpy. It'll bust 'im--that's my on'y fear, but I must tell 'im wotever be the consikences."

With this stern resolve, to act regardless of results, Bob Frog went off in search of his little friend, whose departure for Canada had been delayed, from some unknown cause, much to Bob's satisfaction. He found Tim on his way to the Beehive, and was induced not only to go with him, but to decide, finally, to enter the Inst.i.tution as a candidate for Canada. Being well-known, both as to person and circ.u.mstances, he was accepted at once; taken in, washed, cropped, and transformed as if by magic.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.