"You mustn't talk about my father to me," said Gabriel, explaining. Then he started for home, and the laughing began again, softly.
"It was true," he thought, as he trudged along. Things were getting worse at home, and sometimes he was hungry, for there was not too much on the table, and his big brothers fought for their share.
As he neared Mother Lemon's cottage, with its thatched roof and tiny windows, he saw the old woman, in her short gown, tugging at the well-sweep. It seemed very hard for her to draw up the heavy bucket.
Instantly Gabriel ran forward.
"Get out of here, now," cried the old woman, in a cracked voice, for she saw it was one of the school-children, and she was weary of their worrying tricks.
"Shan't I pull up the bucket for you?" asked Gabriel.
"Ah, I know you. You want to splash me!" returned Mother Lemon, eying him warily; but the boy put his strong arm to the task, and the dripping bucket rose from the depths, while the little old woman withdrew to a safer distance.
"Show me where to put it and I will carry it into the house for you," said Gabriel.
"Now bless your rosy cheeks, you're an honest lad," said Mother Lemon gratefully; but she took the precaution to walk behind him all the way, lest he should still be intending to play her some trick. When, however, he had entered the low door and filled the kettle and the pans, according to her directions, she smiled on him, and as she thanked him, she asked him his name.
"Gabriel," said the lad.