“That’s what the priest, and the Levite, and the farmer says!” returned Sarah.
“Won’t you ask Mr. Goodenough to stay to dinner?” said Clare.
He went up to the farmer, who in his perplexity had seated himself, and laid his arm on his shoulder.
“No, I can’t,” answered Sarah. “He would eat all we have, and not have enough!”
“Now Maly is gone,” returned Clare, “I would rather not have any dinner.”
The farmer’s old feeling for the boy, which the dread of having him left on his hands had for the time dulled, came back.
“Get him his dinner, Sarah,” he said. “I’ve something to see to in the village. By the time I come back, he’ll be ready to go with me, perhaps.”
“God bless you, sir!” cried Sarah. “You meant it all the time, an’ I been behavin’ like a brute!”
The farmer did not like being taken up so sharply. He had promised nothing! But he had nearly made up his mind that, as the friend of the late parson, he could scarcely do less than give shelter to the child until he found another refuge. True, he was not the parson’s child, but he had loved him as his own! He would make the boy useful, and so shut his wife’s mouth! There were many things Clare could do about the place!