"We'll make that all right," replied the young machinist. "But didn't Pooler ever pay you anything?"
"Pay me? Don't catch him giving out a cent if he can help it. All I got was these duds--'em as was left when his wife died."
"Not much, certainly," put in Mont, surveying the tattered and patched dress.
"Other folks earn money, and I guess I can, too, if I try," continued Meg, as she ran the boat up the accustomed beaching place.
"Certainly you can," declared Jack.
"And have a better living than you had at the island," added the young man.
It was growing dusk when they stepped ashore. Meg tied the boat fast and left the oars on the seats, certain that the craft would not remain uncalled for long.
It was but a short walk to Farmer Farrell's place. They found him driving home the cows, and on the doorstep, joined by his wife, the two honest people listened to what Jack and Mont had to say about themselves and Meg.
The girl stood in the background, much of her former shyness having returned. At the conclusion of the tale, Mrs. Farrell took her hand warmly.
"Poor child! you've had a hard time of it, truly!" she said, "But you sha'n't have any more trouble--at least, not for the present, eh, father?"