At the sound of her voice the boy turned hastily. It was indeed John Monday, but looking so thin and haggard that the little girl uttered a cry of dismay at his changed appearance. His clothes were covered in dust, and his feet were almost on the ground, his boots being nearly without soles. When he saw Mousey and her aunt, his face flushed painfully, and he appeared inclined at first to run away, but seemed to think better of it.
"I'm not doing any harm," he said half apologetically; "I was only watching the men at work in the garden, and wondering if they could find a job for me."
"It is my uncle's garden," Mousey said; "I suppose you know that?"
"Yes," he assented briefly. "Do you think your uncle could find me some work?" he questioned, a gleam of hope passing over his countenance. "I'd do anything! I've been wandering about the country for weeks, but I haven't been able to get regular employment. I suppose you knew I had left Mr. Harding's?"
"Yes. Why did you go, John? I'm sure Cousin Robert would have forgiven you if you had stayed."
The boy shook his head. There was a weary expression on his face which Mrs. Dawson noticed with a thrill of sympathy.
"Are you hungry?" she asked abruptly.
"I haven't had a morsel of food inside my lips since yesterday morning," he replied; "but I didn't come to beg," he added hastily, whilst Mousey uttered an exclamation of mingled horror and pity. "I thought perhaps Mr. Dawson might be able to find me some work."
"Come inside," said Mrs. Dawson.
She led the way into the house, and seating the boy at the kitchen table, gave him a plate of bread and meat. He thanked her gratefully, and began to eat, whilst Mousey watched him with sympathetic eyes; and Mrs. Dawson turned to the fireplace to see if the kettle was nearly on the boil. It was, and in a few minutes she set before her visitor a strong cup of tea, which refreshed him even more than the food.