"If I take you into my service," said Miser Farebrother, "will you serve me faithfully?"
A sudden light of joy shone in Tom Barley's eyes. "Give me the book again, your honour, and I'll take my oath on it."
"No," said Miser Farebrother. As a matter of fact, he had been glad to get the book back in his possession, not knowing yet whether Tom Barley could read, and being fearful that he might open it and discover its nature; "I'll be satisfied with your promise. But you can't sleep in the house, you know."
"There's places outside, your honour; there's one where the horses was. That'll be good enough for me."
"Quite good enough. How much money have you got?"
"I had a penny when I reached here, your honour, but it's gone. I spent it in bread."
"Is that all you've had to eat?"
"No, your honour; I killed a rabbit."
"Very well. I take you into my service, Tom Barley. Twopence a week, and you sleep outside. When you're a man I'll make your fortune if you do as you're told. What's to-day?"
"Monday, your honour," said Tom Barley, now completely happy. "The church bells was ringing yesterday."