“Speak truth,” said Norman, ready to shake it out of him; “is this for Anderson junior?”
Under those eyes, flashing with generous, sorrowful wrath, he dared not utter another falsehood, but Anderson’s threats chained him, and he preferred his thraldom to throwing himself on the mercy of his brother who loved him. He would not speak.
“I am glad it is not for yourself,” said Norman; “but do you remember what I said, in case I found you there again?”
“Oh! don’t, don’t!” cried the boy. “I would never have gone if they had not made me.”
“Made you?” said Norman, disdainfully, “how?”
“They would have thrashed me—they pinched my fingers in the box—they pulled my ears—oh, don’t—”
“Poor little fellow!” said Norman; “but it is your own fault. If you won’t keep with me, or Ernescliffe, of course they will bully you. But I must not let you off—I must keep my word!” Tom cried, sobbed, and implored in vain. “I can’t help it,” he said, “and now, don’t howl! I had rather no one knew it. It will soon be over. I never thought to have this to do to one of us.” Tom roared and struggled, till, releasing him, he said, “There, that will do. Stop bellowing, I was obliged, and I can’t have hurt you much, have I?” he added more kindly, while Tom went on crying, and turning from him. “It is nothing to care about, I am sure; look up;” and he pulled down his hands. “Say you are sorry—speak the truth—keep with me, and no one shall hurt you again.”
Very different this from Tom’s chosen associates; but he was still obdurate, sullen, and angry, and would not speak, nor open his heart to those kind words. After one more, “I could not help it, Tom, you’ve no business to be sulky,” Norman took up the bottle, opened it, smelled, and tasted, and was about to throw it into the river; when Tom exclaimed, “Oh, don’t, don’t! what will they do to me? give it to me!”
“Did they give you the money to pay for it?”
“Yes; let me have it.”