"He said as you was comin' round a purpose to 'indemnifight' me," Bill went on; "an' if he was me, he wouldn't stand still to be took."
What Bill had supposed this terrible word to mean, it would be hard to determine; but he had kept on repeating it to himself all the way he had run, until it had got so mixed up as to come out entirely wrong. "Nor I wasn't going to neither," added Bill, with the defiant look again.
"How came you to steal an egg for him?" asked the Squire next.
"'Cause I wanted sixpence," answered Bill. "But he's as bad as me," added Bill eagerly. "He hadn't ought to ha' taken what I'd stole. I've heard my father say so once."
"Quite right," rejoined the Squire. "Receiving stolen goods is punishable by law. He sucked this egg, then, I suppose; and gave you sixpence for it."
Then came out the history of how Bill's evil conscience had brought about the smashing of the eggs; and how, in self-defence, he had inflicted on the unfortunate goose the injuries that had caused her death. "I didn't want to hurt her, sir," said Bill; "but when one o' them things is after you—"
"It's rather terrible, I must admit," returned the Squire, hardly able to restrain a smile. "Then you didn't get your sixpence after all?"
"Yes, I did though," replied Bill quickly, with a cunning grin. "He guv it me to keep from splitting, 'cause he knew as how if I was caught, I was bound to let out who I'd stole it for. If it hadn't been for that," said Bill, whose meal had pretty well revived him by this time, "and t' other, what I got for bein' made a pictur' of, I'm blest if I'd 'a' had a rag o' flesh on any o' my bones by now—grub's that hard to get."
"Ah! Recollect that, next time that you're tempted to do wrong," returned the Squire solemnly.
"But he was just as bad as me," repeated Bill, who seemed inclined to take comfort in companionship in his disgrace.