Author's Note: This is just something I thought I'd try out. Let me know what you think. I'm hoping to continue it.

Papa used to say that a man is judged by the number of pennies in his pocket.

Alfred tends to agree. He's lined up against a slab of drywall with fifteen other orphaned children, looking out at the buzzing crowd of farmers scrutinizing them for the picking, and thinks that maybe if he had some pennies, he could run away and start his own farm. He could grow enough corn and potatoes to never be hungry again. He's never maintained crops before, but it can't be much worse than factory work, and it's better to be outside in the sun than in a muggy brick-building with all of the windows clamped shut.

The farmers advance on them, prowling back and forth as the strongest boys are taken first. Alfred is one of the stragglers left behind with the youngsters, and though a few men show an initial interest in him, they snort and scowl when they see how frail he is—no better than a walking skeleton. If he lifts a single sack of spuds, he's likely to break an arm.

"Flimsy boy, won't be much use for anything," one of them says, curling his lip in disgust. "Might not even survive till the end of the month."

Mr. Vargas, the adult looking after them until they're placed into homes, pats the farmer on the back and says, "He's a healthy boy, a little underfed, but healthy."

That's not entirely true. Alfred knows he's more than a "little" underfed, and he's infamous with the others for his lung spasms. Even on the train ride here, he fell into one of his fits, gasping and panting as Mr. Vargas assured him he was fine. Mr. Vargas thinks he's nothing but a liar who's trying to be sent to a hospital where the food is better and claims he's seen enough fibbing boys in his life to know when there is a real cause for concern.

After an hour of standing around, he is still one of the five boys remaining. The others are barely older than toddlers, meaning they are too little to be fit for any serious fieldwork. And Alfred, well, he's always been the runt of the group.

"How old is he?"

"Just turned ten."

"Really? He doesn't look a day older than seven."

There's someone new standing before him. The man crouches to get a closer look at him, humming in thought. He's wearing awfully nice clothes for a farmer—his shoes have been shined recently, and he's got a corduroy jacket free of any stains or tears. A pair of green eyes blink owlishly at him, and Alfred is reminded of the trees in Central Park—how he would sometimes sleep underneath their shade during the warmer months.

"Can you read, lad?"

He doesn't sound like a farmer either. He's English, and Alfred knows this because some of the boys on the train were English, parentless and alone in a foreign land where life was supposed to be better.

"N-No, sir," Alfred tells him, frightened by how croaky his voice sounds. It's been a while since he's been offered any water.

"What's your name?"

"Alfred."

He's certainly intimidating. He looks like a serious and stern individual, nothing like what Alfred imagined his new parent to be, but he isn't about to start complaining. Anything is better than being defenseless on the street, and if things turn out to be really bad, he'll sneak off in the middle of the night and never return.

Mr. Vargas is absolutely delighted—the happiest Alfred has ever seen him. He's eager to get rid of the boy, mostly because he's been more trouble than he's worth over the past few weeks.

After a brief discussion and the signing of a contract, Alfred is handed over to the imposing man. The hunger in his belly has become worse, and though he is normally able to ignore it, today he can feel every ache and pain in his body. It is so intense that he struggles to keep up with the man, lightheaded and smacking his lips with thirst. Thankfully, the walk isn't long because as soon as they're out of the plaza, the man stops in front of a car and swings the door open, waiting for Alfred to get inside.

And talk about pennies… This man must be loaded with them if he can afford a car! The thought makes Alfred's head spin even more.

"Are you a farmer?" Alfred asks him, pulling the tiny knapsack hanging off his shoulder closer to his chest. He doesn't have many belongings, but he keeps a pair of woolen socks and an extra shirt in the knapsack along with the stuffed, gray rabbit he's had as a toy since he was a baby. He also has a picture of him with his brother hidden in one of the inner pockets.

The man scrunches his brows at the question and then laughs. It's not an unpleasant laugh by any means but it still manages to scare Alfred. "No, far from it."

"What are you then?"

"A lawyer."

"Oh."

Alfred isn't exactly sure of what a lawyer does, but he doesn't want to ask because he'll probably end up embarrassing himself even more. Worse, maybe the man will think he's stupid and send him back to Mr. Vargas.

But if he's not a farmer, then what does he need a kid for?

"Come along, now. I'm in a bit of a rush," the man urges, resting a hand on Alfred's back to give him a small push. "Have you ever been in a car before?"

"No, sir."

"Well, there's a first time for everything. Oh, and you needn't call me 'sir'. Arthur will do just fine."

Alfred nods and gets into the passenger side of the car, clutching his knapsack tightly. He's heard of people dying from being in cars before. The wheels can roll right off and everything can explode.

"Where are we going?"

"To my home," Arthur says, starting the car and leading them down a winding road cutting through the plains of Illinois.

Things are much different here than in New York. It's more barren, which is disappointing because Alfred thought this land would be plentiful. The children on the train spoke of endless rows of grain and huge apple orchards, but so far, Alfred has only seen untouched grass and the occasional humble house by the roadside. It's not as terrible as the smell of raw sewage and the sight of panhandlers on every street corner, but at least in New York, there was a sense of togetherness associated with their abject poverty. The wealthy took up the luxurious parts of the city, and the rest of the paupers like him fought for their fill each day.

"We're nearly there," Arthur announces after what feels like half an hour. "It's the next town over."

And true to his word, the farther they drive, the less rural their surroundings become. Clusters of houses begin to pop up on the hillsides, and Alfred takes everything in with great interest, wondering what life will be like here. It already looks a little brighter and happier than life in the city.

Arthur stops the car in front of a cream colored two-story house. It has a simple elegance about it, and the flowers in the garden are vibrant and well-trimmed. A white fence surrounds the property, and Arthur ushers him up the cobblestone walkway leading to the porch.

"Shoes off at the door," he instructs, outstretching an arm to block Alfred from entering the house. "Track any dirt inside and you'll be the one cleaning it up."

His shoes are so worn that Alfred doubts they even constitute as shoes anymore, but he doesn't argue. He carefully toes them off and leaves them on the porch.

But before he can step inside, a blur of fluff comes barreling out of the foyer and slams into his legs, knocking him down. His head hits one of the wooden chairs set up on the porch, and he lets out a startled yelp, thrusting his hands out to keep whatever monster is coming after him at bay.

"Oi, you mongrel! How many times have I told you that's not the way to greet someone?" Arthur shouts from somewhere above him. He hears the door close, followed by a scratching sound and a pitiful whine.

After a moment, a pair of firm hands help him up and dust off his threadbare overcoat.

"Awfully sorry about that," Arthur huffs. "Baron gets a bit enthusiastic when guests arrive. Are you all right?"

Alfred rubs the bump on his head and nods, too frightened to speak. Arthur opens the door again, except this time, he grabs Baron by the collar and directs him away from Alfred.

"He'll calm down in a minute. Come in before you catch your death out there."

With reluctance, Alfred finally crosses the threshold, eyes widening at the giant dog who is still anxiously wagging his tail back and forth and trying to get a good whiff of his trousers. He's a copper colored German shepherd and retriever mix.

"Sit," Arthur commands Baron, quite irritated. "This is Alfred. He's going to be living with us from now on. Be a good, mangy mutt around him. Now you can greet him."

Arthur releases his hold on Baron, and the dog shoves his cold nose against Alfred's hands, sniffing him and padding around him in a full circle before being satisfied. Not a second later, he throws his paws at Alfred's chest to brace himself and gives him a slobbery kiss on the face, causing Alfred to stumble backward.

"Enough, Baron!" Arthur says sharply, calling him to his side. "I know he's in need of a bath, but you're not going to be the one to give it to him."

Alfred wipes away the slimy feeling on his cheek and giggles, pinking. He likes animals, but he's never come into contact with one that could rival him in size. "Can I pet him?"

Arthur purses his lips and gives Baron a withering look. "He's spoiled enough as is, but yes, you may."

Alfred scratches the big brute behind his ears, and Baron collapses onto the floor for a belly rub, panting and impossibly cheerful.

"It's high time for some dinner," Arthur points out, interrupting the cuddle session. "Wash your hands in the lavatory upstairs. It'll be the first room on your left."

He does as he's told and gets the sticky, dirty feeling off of his skin. Then, he follows the sound of Arthur in the kitchen, not caring what is placed before him as long as it is somewhat edible. He's given a bowl of vegetable stew and some bread, and he wastes no time in slurping it up.

Arthur frowns at his poor table manners, but he doesn't comment—it's an issue that can be addressed at a later time, and the child is obviously malnourished.

"I'm sorry it isn't much," Arthur begins to apologize. "I haven't had the time to prepare something more substantial, and it's—"

Alfred tilts his head to one side in between a spoonful of stew. "You cook? I thought ladies were supposed to do the cooking?"

"Err—well, yes, but most of the time it's only Baron and I..."

Alfred lowers his eyes to look at Arthur's hands and notices the wedding band on his ring finger. Papa used to have one too, but he had to pawn it off. He's not sure if it's okay to ask Arthur about it though, so he goes back to eating his stew instead. It's very plain, but it's the best food he's had in weeks.

However, maybe it would be a good time to ask about the work he's going to be doing. Arthur clearly doesn't have any crops, but he does have a garden, so maybe that's what needs tending.

"What work do I havta do?"

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and Arthur tsks at him before gesturing to the napkin on the table and considering Alfred's question.

"Work? What work?"

"That's why you wanted me, right? Cause there's work that's gotta be done?"

Arthur furrows. "That's not why I—Alfred, there isn't any work, aside from some household chores that every young boy should be expected to do."

"So you're not going to make me go to a factory either?"

"No, of course not."

All of the kids he knew had been forced to work. The only children he knew didn't work were the ones who went to school, but most families needed the extra money. Even though some schools were open to the public now, no one had the time to go. Those who were doing well under the economic boom were the privileged ones.

"What's my job then?" he asks, hopelessly confused.

"To grow up strong and healthy," Arthur replies, taking his bowl from him when he's done eating. "I'll run a bath upstairs, and we'll have to find you some clean clothes. I assume you've been wearing that outfit since you left the city?"

Alfred nods. He doesn't see what's wrong with his clothes. They're pretty warm, and better than what some other kids on the train had, but he's quickly learning that Arthur is a stickler for tidiness, and Alfred is everything but cleanly.

He's deposited in the bath a little while later. The water is warm and feels nice against his sore muscles. For the most part, he's allowed to wash himself, but Arthur helps him with his hair because he wants to make sure he gets all of the dirt out and that he hasn't caught any lice during his trip.

Fortunately, Arthur deems him lice-free and scrubs his scalp thoroughly, taking note of the welt on his head from the incident on the porch. His first day home, and he's already more banged up than when he arrived.

When that's taken care of, Arthur puts him into an ill-fitting nightgown, but it will have to do until they can get him something better. Then, it's time for bed, and Alfred doesn't put up a fuss because he's admittedly exhausted, and sleeping under the cozy covers sounds like paradise.

"Look at you," Arthur sighs as the boy climbs into his new bed. "There's not an ounce of meat on you, is there? Did they feed you at all?"

The man isn't quite so intimidating anymore. He's stoic though, and it makes Alfred a little sad to think that maybe Arthur has been lonely too, lonely just like him. When he looks at it that way, he's glad he was chosen for this home—him, Alfred, of all people. The other children are no doubt laboring over backbreaking work, and he gets to snooze without a care in the world. Should he feel guilty?

Arthur awkwardly stands in the middle of the room for a while, unsure of what to do. They don't know each other very well. As a matter of fact, they're practically strangers. And yet, Arthur tries to reach out to him. He doesn't want Alfred to fear him, but he's not known for being an affectionate person either. He settles on, "If you need anything during the night, I'll be across the hall."

"Okay, goodnight."

"Goodnight. I know this isn't the best of circumstances to be put in, and I imagine you're feeling overwhelmed, but we'll figure it out as we go along, yes?"

"Uh-huh."

Arthur takes a deep breath and makes his way out the door. "Okay then."

The man is far from being a papa. Alfred can see how unsure he is of everything he does, and the nervousness laced in his words, and for some reason, that makes him smile. It's kind of funny. He probably hasn't had much experience with children.

But that's okay. Arthur doesn't have to be a papa— maybe they can just be friends and that'll be enough.

"We have plenty of time before the trial… Yes, yes… We'll practice the questions I'm going to ask, as well as what you should say. Don't stray from your affidavit. We want the jury to view you as someone who is relatable—an everyday man with a streak of horrid luck."

Alfred sits up and rubs his eyes, an enormous yawn escaping him. He slept like a baby. One glance at the floor reveals that Baron camped out in his room for the night, and he's still dozing on his side. The only sign he's alive is by how his paw twitches every now and then.

As he fights the leftover clouds of grogginess in his head, Alfred can hear Arthur finishing up the last bits of a conversation on the phone, and minutes later, the man peeks his head into the room to check if he's awake.

"Good morning, Alfred. Sleep well? I have some business to take care of down at the firm, so would you manage all right on your own for a little while? I shouldn't be long," he explains, casting an exasperated look at Baron in the process. "The old fool tried to sleep in your bed, but I didn't want him getting his grimy paws on the furniture."

Alfred gets up and gives the lazy dog a gentle pat on the head. Although they didn't have the best introduction, he has a feeling he's going to grow fond of Baron. "Good morning. I'll be okay alone."

"Are you sure? There's some porridge on the table for you. I'll try to be back by lunch. Don't leave the house, and don't answer the door either, no matter who it is."

"Okay," Alfred agrees. He's been on his own before, and a few hours doesn't seem like it'll be any trouble.

"Even if it's the President, he'll have to wait until my return," Arthur warns, fetching his briefcase. "Promise me, Alfred."

"I promise. Do you know the President?"

"No, but I want to stress the importance of the matter. I've left the phone number to the firm on the kitchen counter if there's an emergency."

"Okay."

Arthur adjusts his tie, puts on his coat, and does his best attempt at a smile. "All right, I think that's everything. I'll see you in a few hours."

After breakfast, Alfred finds himself with a serious case of boredom. Arthur's only been gone for twenty minutes, but it feels like an eternity when there's nothing to entertain him. His clothes have been washed, and he puts them on, glad to have their sense of familiarity with him even if they are falling apart.

He plays with Baron for a little while, except he doesn't know where any of the dog's toys are kept, so they settle for some roughhousing.

But Baron is an old dog, and thus, tires quickly. No more than ten minutes go by before he's ready to take another nap.

And so, Alfred is left to his own devices again. It's a beautiful autumn day out, not nearly as chilly as yesterday, and he watches the townsfolk roam down the street from the upstairs window. Not much seems to be going on, and he wonders if it's always this quiet and peaceful in this town.

There's a man across the street with long, blond hair smoking a cigarette, and he somehow knows he's being watched because he looks up at Alfred in surprise, one hand in his pocket.

The man smiles and waves, so Alfred immediately ducks away from the window, heart racing. Arthur hasn't introduced him to anybody else yet, and perhaps that means he doesn't want him talking or getting to know anyone. Then again, isn't it polite to introduce yourself instead of having someone do it for you? He likes meeting new people, and he doesn't see how anything could possibly go wrong in such a serene and bucolic area. In New York, it made sense not to talk to strangers and to constantly be vigilant, but everyone in this town probably knows each other, and they'd like to meet him too.

As though confirming his thoughts, there's a knock on the door.

Alfred bites his lip and tries to decide what to do. Baron is barking, and the man across the street is gone now, which could only mean one thing.

He slowly makes his way to the front door and stares at it for a long moment, unsure. Arthur said he couldn't let anyone in, but he didn't say he couldn't ask the visitor what they wanted.

"Who is it?" he asks, timid.

A bubbly laugh echoes from the porch. "I should be the one asking you that question."

"A-Arthur said you have to wait until he comes back if you wanna come in."

"Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day. Arthur with a child. These are strange times we are living in indeed," the man says to himself, still laughing. "He can barely care for himself."

He doesn't like the sound of this man, but now that his curiosity is piqued, he wants to know more. "Who are you?"

The man stops laughing long enough to reply. "I, mon chou, am Francis, an old friend of Arthur's."

"Friend?"

"I suppose Arthur doesn't really have friends. Allow me to make a correction. I'm a colleague of his. How did you have the misfortune of meeting him?"

Not really wanting to answer the question, Alfred simply remarks, "I live here now."

The man hums and clears his throat. "You wouldn't have happened to arrive on one of the orphan trains?"

"How do you know about that?"

"It happens often in these parts—little boys and girls being relocated from the cities to dreary homes out here. Some are better off on their own, I'm afraid."

Feeling the need to defend himself, Alfred pulls back his shoulders and says proudly, "I don't think I'd be better on my own."

"You're on your own right now, aren't you? Arthur left you in this house all alone, and I'm afraid he's going to be doing that often. He's married to his job."

Is it true? He told himself he'd run away if things got bad again, but things don't seem too bad yet. Should he risk sticking around to find out?

"I can show you around town if you'd like. Baron might enjoy a walk as well."

It's tempting. Very tempting. He looks at the clock again and thinks he might have at least another two hours until lunch. He could be out and back without Arthur ever knowing.

Mind made up, he unlocks the door and lets Francis inside. He smells of cigarettes and roses, and when Baron runs over to see who the intruder is, he growls and shows his impressive set of teeth.

"Stand down, doggy. We're going on a walk. A walk, Baron. Doesn't that sound nice? Your terrible owner doesn't let you out enough. Won't let you go beyond the fence, will he?" Francis coaxes him. He simmers down upon hearing "walk" and allows Francis to attach his leash to his collar. "Let's go."

It really is a gorgeous day, and when Alfred walks down the steps of the porch, he feels the sunlight swimming on his face. Francis guides them down the block, and he even lets Alfred hold Baron's leash for a little while.

"Hold on tight. If he sees a bird, he's likely to chase after it," Francis cautions, chatting about this and that. He tells Alfred about a few of the people in town and suggests a shop where they can get him some new clothes.

"But Arthur said he would take me shopping."

"Hah! He doesn't have any taste. Believe me, Alfred, you will be far better off with what I choose. Consider it a welcome gift."

Francis isn't as creepy as he appeared upon first impression. He's a little extravagant and hard to understand, but Alfred knows he doesn't mean any harm. Even Baron begrudgingly accepts his company, and Alfred surmises that if he posed any real danger, the dog would be aware of it.

They make it to the center of town, at which point Francis ties Barons's leash to a streetlamp and steers Alfred into a store. He has the boy try on at least ten different outfits, and by the time they're done, the boy is famished and ready to head back. They pass by the law firm, and Francis is sure to point it out so Alfred can know where it is for future reference. All in all, it's a productive trip, and Alfred feels a little more assured and less out of place.

Halfway back, however, Baron whines and refuses to continue, no matter how sweetly Francis talks to him or how many times he pulls on his leash.

"What's wrong with him?" Alfred asks, worried. The poor dog doesn't look too great, and after Francis finally gets him to walk a bit farther, he picks up a limp and whimpers pathetically. "C'mon, Baron. Don't you wanna go home?"

Francis pulls on his leash when he stops again and sighs. "I might have to carry him. The beast weighs at least seventy pounds."

He hefts him into his arms and hurries back toward the house, griping about stubborn pets taking after their owners.

When they finally do arrive, Arthur bursts out of the front door in a furious tirade, red faced and clearly panicked. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

He's so angry he can hardly breathe properly, hands clenched into fists. "I told you to stay inside!"

Alfred cowers behind Francis, eyes already filling with tears. He didn't want to make his new caretaker upset, but his itch for adventure was too strong and won over his good judgment.

"And Baron! What's happened to him?" Arthur demands, taking the dog from Francis's hold.

Francis rolls his eyes. "Relax, we just took a walk."

"Just a walk? I'm going to have to put hot compresses on his legs all night now. He can't walk that far with his arthritis."

Great, now Baron is hurt because of him too. A sob escapes Alfred, and before long, he's too overwrought to even look at Arthur. The man carries Baron into the house and then comes back out to deal with his disobedience, cross and impervious toward the hysterics. He exchanges some angry words and threats with Francis, takes the bag of clothes from him, and drags a now blubbering Alfred into the house.

"Stop crying," he insists, sitting the boy on the couch in the living room. "You disobeyed me. You promised you would stay inside and wouldn't answer the door. What if you had been hurt?"

Alfred sniffles. "It was only Francis."

"Even so, Francis is not in charge of your care, I am. What I say is all that matters. He should know not to take you around town without my permission. You had me worried sick! I had no idea where you had wandered off to, and with Baron nonetheless! It was extremely foolish of you," Arthur frets, heart rate finally slowing. "Don't ever do that again. Am I understood?"

"Y-Yes. I'm sorry! I was just bored because I was all alone and—"

"That's no excuse for what you did. You could have spoken to me about it upon my return, and we could've discussed your feelings. Running off with people you don't know is never a wise decision."

Alfred dips his head in shame, hiccupping. Arthur gives him a handkerchief to wipe his face with, and when they've both calmed down, Alfred asks, "Will Baron be okay?"

"He'll be fine with rest. His joints are not as strong as they used to be."

It's good news, but then Alfred realizes he hasn't been properly punished yet. "Are you going to cane me?"

"Cane you? No, I won't," Arthur reassures, watching as Alfred visibly breathes a sigh of relief. "But don't give me a reason to."

Alfred gets another stern warning, and then Arthur softens his features and murmurs, "Now, why don't you show me those new clothes of yours? We'll have to pay Francis back for them."

"He said it was a gift."

"That's too expensive of a gift for me to accept without some form of repayment. He's taking the money whether he wants to or not. Bloody frog."

Alfred snickers, sadness already forgotten.

It's true, Francis is a bloody frog.