“We’d be worth our victuals anyhow!” answered Clare, who always counted the dog.
“Who’s we?” asked the man. “Be there a hundred of you?”
“No; only two. Only me and Abdiel here!”
“Oh, that beast of a mongrel?”
The gardener made a stride as if to seize the dog. Clare bounded from him. The man burst into a mocking laugh.
“He’s a good dog, indeed, sir!” said Clare.
“You’ll give him the sack before I give you a job.”
“We’re old friends, sir; we can’t be parted!”
“I thought as much!” cried the gardener. “They’re always ready to work, an’ so hungry! But will they part with the mangy dog? Not they! Hard work and good wages ain’t nowhere beside a mongrel pup! Get out! Don’t I know the whole ugly bilin’ of ye!”
Clare turned away with a gentle good-morning, which the man did not get out of his heart for a matter of two days, and departed, hugging Abdiel.