"Yes," replied Rackett. "Even a sort of relation of yours, that I promised Gran I would come and see. Hence my following on your heels."
"Didn't know I'd any relation hereabouts," said Tom sulkily. He couldn't bear Rackett's interfering in the family in any way.
"You haven't. I meant Jack. But we'll get along, shall we?"
"We're a big flood," remarked Tom. "But if they'll give us the barn, well manage. It's getting wet to sleep out."
They pressed ahead, the pack-horse trotting, but lifting up his head like a venomous snake, in unwillingness. They had come into the open fields. At last in the falling dark they saw a house and buildings. A man hove in sight, but lurked away from them. Rackett hailed him. The man seemed to oppose their coming further. He was a hairy, queer figure, with his untrimmed beard.
"Master never takes no strangers," he said.
Rackett slipped a shilling in his hand, and would he ask his master if they might camp in the barn, out of the rain.
"Y' ain't the police, now, by any manner of means?" asked the man.
"God love you, no," said Rackett.
"We're no police," said Tom. "I'm Tom Ellis, from Wandoo, over York way."