"I never peach, Aleck; it's only a coward that does that," concluded Tom.
The negro disappeared from the room, but reappeared in less than ten minutes with something done up in a napkin.
"Dare you am, sah," he said, "two tongue sandwiches and a big piece of layer cake, sah, all I could git, fo' Mrs. Green am werry sharp. And here is a bit of candle, sah, for a light. But please don't let 'em know I brought yo' de things, sah."
"Never a word, Aleck, thank you," answered Tom, and handed over the quarter.
Left again to himself, Tom lost no time in making way, not only with the sandwiches and cake, but also some of the bread and milk, for his day's traveling had left him tremendously hungry. The bit of candle was less than two inches long, and began to splutter just as the meal was finished.
A rattle at the door caused the lad to sweep the cake crumbs out of sight, blow out the candle, and pocket the tiny bit left. Then the light of a lamp lit up the guardroom, and Josiah Crabtree came in.
"Well, Rover, have you enjoyed your supper?" he asked coldly, as he glanced at the half empty bowl.
"Very much," was the youth's equally cold reply.
"You like bread and milk, then," was Crabtree's sarcastic rejoinder.
"Nothing better, sir, for supper."