“Smith,” said Tom, “Mr. Smith.”
“What Smith?”
“I dunno his other name,” replied the captured pirate, suspecting a trap; “I never heard ’im called anythink except Mister Smith.”
“Hum,” said the farmer. “An’ how long is it since you run away?”
“’Bout two weeks,” replied Tom. “I bin hidin’ in the bush so’s they wouldn’t ketch me. I didn’t want to be ketched an’ took back an’ knocked about. I’d a rather died. I nearly did die, too! I got starved—I’m starved now. I ain’t ’ad nothink to eat all day, nor yesterday ’ardly. I wouldn’t ’a come ’ere to take them fowls only I wuz ’ungry, an’ that’s the truth. I never stole nothink in me life before.”
“Poor child!” murmured the woman; “perhaps he couldn’t help it, Jacob.”
“Um,” said Jacob. “I thought you said it wuz a native cat arter the fowls?”
“Yes,” replied Tom; “I did say it.”
“An’ now you admit you did it?”