“Why,” exclaimed the woman, “it’s a man! No, it’s a boy!”
“Yes,” agreed the farmer, screwing Tom round to the light; “it’s a boy all right.”
“Ow!” yelled Tom. “Leggo, yer ’urtin’ me.”
“I’ll ’urt ye a dashed sight more afore I’m done with ye,” observed the farmer; “ye thievin’ young varmint.”
“I ain’t,” whined the chief pirate; “I ain’t a thief!”
“Poor child!” said the farmer’s wife. “Don’t hurt him, Jacob!—ah, don’t hurt him!”
“The varmint’s done his best to hurt me!” cried Jacob. “He kicked a few inches of bark off my shins!”
“Well,” howled Tom, “you nearly choked me!”
“Whose boy is he?” asked the farmer’s wife.
“He’s got a ugly face,” replied the burly farmer, holding Tom up to the candle light; “a ugly face that a cove ought to know anywhere; but I don’t recognise ’im.”