Monday brought some softening (helped by the fact that Sister Mary was
on duty at breakfast-time, so that I escaped the addition of
punishment to hunger), and, as the week wore slowly by, hope rose in
my breast once more, and with it a return of what I now regard as the
common-sense prescience which made me hesitate to adopt a swagman's
life. I could not honestly say that I had any definite ideas as to
another and more reputable sort of occupation or career. As yet, I had
not. But I did vaguely feel that there would be derogation in becoming
what my father would have called a 'tramp.'

My father's memory, the question of what he would have thought of it,
affected my attitude materially. He had accepted it as axiomatic, I
thought, that his son must be a gentleman. My present lot as an
'inmate' of St. Peter's hardly seemed to fit the axiom, somehow; and
Ted, whatever I might think or say about 'beggin'' or the like, was
all the friend I had or seemed likely to have, and a really good
fellow at that. But withal a certain stubbornly resistant quality in
me asserted that there would be a downward step for me, though not for
Ted, or for any of my fellow orphans, in taking to the road; that the
step might prove irrevocable, and that I ought not to take it. I dare
say there was something of the snob in me. Anyhow, that was how I felt
about it. Also, I remember deriving a certain comically stern sort of
satisfaction from contemplation of the spectacle of myself, alone,
unaided, declining to stoop, even though stooping should bring me
freedom from the Orphanage! Yes, there was a certain egotistical
satisfaction in that thought.

Ted came to see me again on the next Sunday, but our day was far less
cheery than its predecessor had been. We were good friends still, but
there was a subtle constraint between us, as was proved by the fact
that Ted did not again mention the suggestion of my taking to the road
with him. Also, Ted was for the moment a wage-earner, working during
fixed and regular hours for an employer; and I knew he hated that. In
such case he felt as one of the mountain-bred brumbies (wild horses)
of that countryside might be supposed to feel, when caught, branded,
and forced between shafts.

On the following Sunday Ted's downcast constraint was much more
pronounced, and I saw plainly that my Sabbath visitor was on the eve
of a breakaway. The name of the farmer for whom he had been working
was Mannasseh Ford, and,