“Yes,” replied Tom, meekly. “I hear. I won’t try to run away. I wish I could get a good home,” he added on a second inspiration.
“If yer honest about that, meybe I’ll find a home for you,” said the man. “I want a good lad about the place.”
“You give me a show, an’ don’t whale me like that man Smith did, an’ I’ll work,” said Tom, throwing as much eagerness into his voice as he could.
“I’ll make some enquiries about you in the mornin’,” said the farmer as they entered the kitchen door; “an’ the missus’ll give you a feed for now.”
The good-hearted woman set down a loaf of bread and the best part of a leg of mutton before Tom.
Then she asked him if he would have tea or milk, and he said he’d take milk so as not to put her to any trouble and he was so polite and softspoken, and looked so penitent, that her heart went out to him still more.
Tom rolled his eyes about when he saw the food, and put out his hand and seized a piece of bread and wolfed at it.
Then he grabbed the piece of meat which she had just cut off the joint and tore it as if he were famished.
“Poor thing, poor thing!” said the woman. “Don’t eat so quickly. You’ll be ill. There now, take your time; don’t gulp it. There’s plenty more. You can have as much as you want.”