Mrs. Tollivant interrupted kindly. "You needn't be afraid of that. He's been with us for five years. I think I may say that all traces of the past have been outlived. We can really give him a good character."
Tom was grateful. Mr. Quidmore examined him again. At last he shuffled up to him, throwing his arm across his shoulder, and drawing him close to himself.
"What about it, young fellow? Want to come?"
Entirely won by this display of kindliness, the boy smiled up into the twisted face. "Yes, sir."
"Then that's settled. Put your duds together, and we'll go along. I guess," he added to Mr. Tollivant, "that you can stretch a point to let him come, and get your permit from the Guardians to-morrow."
Mr. Tollivant agreeing that after five years' care he could venture as much as this, they drove over to Bere in Mr. Quidmore's dilapidated motor car. Mrs. Quidmore met them at the door. Her husband called to her:
"Hello, there! Got a new hand to help you with the strawberries."
She answered, dejectedly. "If he's as good as some of the other new hands you've picked up lately—"
"Oh, rats! Give us a rest! If I brought the angel Gabriel to pick the berries you'd see something to find fault with."
That there was a rift within the lute of this couple's happiness was clear to Tom before he had climbed out of the machine.