"Ah, then, Mr. Avery, ye might listen to me. I worked wid ye three whole years, and well you know I was honest and willing—now you say, sir, was I ever in mischief till we came here and I took up with Bowles? In mischief to spake of, I mean."
"You were in too much here to please me."
"Yes, because I took up with Bowles, and you were always down on me; and then I gave impudence, and angered you worse; and then I ran off, thinking to get work on the fishing boats, but they won't have me; and I've tramped the country, and the farmers won't have me, and if you don't take me on again, sir, there's nothing before me but to starve, and that's the gospel truth, so 'tis."
It was Deasy, and his appearance quite confirmed his pitiful tale; he was very ragged, his shoes were in holes, he was very thin, and altogether very unlike the saucy, bright-eyed, Easy Deasy Roger remembered.
"Well, I can't take you on, and you know that as well as I do. You're not able to do a man's work, and I haven't leave to have more than one boy. And Read has the place, and I can tell you he isn't the lad to throw away a chance, as he'd tell you himself."
Roger came forward and drew Avery aside.
"Mr. Avery," he said, "listen to me. Maybe I ought to give it up. Was he really three years with you, and only got idle here?"
"Well, it is pretty true. He never put much into his work, took it easy, he did. But indeed there's no harm in the lad, and I'm sorry for him. He's learned this work, and he's not one that can turn his hand to anything. I was hasty with him too, but you're in your rights, and Deasy must just take his chance."
"And starve," said Deasy, who had drawn near unobserved.
"You can go to the workhouse," said Avery, at which Deasy set up a dismal howl.