"Work for it, of course," returned Dick contemptuously. "A boy your size must be a donkey if he can't pick up enough to buy his victuals. You mightn't get much else but bread; but if you come to think, you'd get no more than that in gaol."
And it struck Bill that bread and water, with liberty, would be sweeter far than the daintiest fare in a prison cell.
"You'd have your hair cropped too," urged Dick; "and all the boys would pelt you, and call names, when you came out again."
"I should have nowhere to sleep," said Bill, still hesitating.
"Oh! You could get a lodging cheap enough," said Dick; "and anyhow—I'll tell you what. If don't make your mind up pretty quick, you'll have 'em down on you. The Squire's sure to recognise your picture; and he'll come right straight off here. If I were you, I'd go inside and grab whatever I could find to stuff my pockets with, and then I'd be off like a shot. I wouldn't stand stock-still and let 'em put the handcuffs on; not I!"
Bill turned. His mother had gone out, and he could take just what he liked.
"Look here," said Dick, with a sudden show of generosity, "I'll start you with that sixpence I was to give you for the egg; and then, you mind!—You've never got to say a word about my name, d'ye hear?"
And Bill, convinced that he had better escape, and glad to get so much to start him on his wanderings, promised, and ran indoors. A minute later, he reappeared, his jacket-tails stuffed out to twice their size, and in his hand a huge hunch of bread, which he was cramming down his throat as fast as he could swallow.
"I'm off!" said he; and away he ran along the road.
"Good luck to you!" cried Dick. And having watched him out of sight, he clambered over the gate of a field just opposite the cottages, and hid behind the hedge, to wait and see what would happen.