“Well, if that’s true,” returned Tom, “let the future work it out. He strikes me as a poor unfortunate who needs some help, and I’m going to give it to him.”
“That’s natural,” retorted Ben, “you’re always helping somebody.”
Tom rejoined Harry. The latter became more chatty now. He did not say much about himself, but from what he did impart Tom surmised that he was practically a tramp, picking up a living at odd jobs.
“See here,” said Harry, as Tom indicated the cheery lights of the old Barnes homestead, “it won’t put you in bad with your folks, will it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Lugging in a ragged stranger like me.”
“My mother will answer that,” replied Tom with a smile, leading the way around the house.
His companion halted outside the kitchen door, as Tom sang out to a portly bustling lady directing the operations of a hired girl.
“Mother, I’ve brought some company home to supper.”
The kindly glance of the hospitable Mrs. Barnes swept the forlorn refugee, clearly reviewed in the light streaming out across the door-step.