“Because then we could get something to eat, and somewhere to lie down.”
“Could you? Look at me, now! I can do the work of two men, and can’t get work for half a man!”
“That’s a sad pity!” said Clare. “I wish I had work! Then I would bring you something to eat.”
The man did not tell them why he had not work enough—that his drunkenness, and the bad ways to which it had brought him, with the fact that he so often dawdled over the work that was given him, caused people to avoid him.
“Who said I hadn’t enough to eat? I ain’t come to that yet, young ’un! What made you say that?”
“Because when I had work, I had plenty to eat; and now that I have nothing to do, I have nothing to eat. It’s well I haven’t work now, though,” added Clare with a sigh, “for I’m too tired to do any. Please may I sit on this heap of ashes?”
“Sit where you like, so long ’s you keep out o’ my way. I ain’t got nothing to give you but a bar of iron. I’ll toast one for you if you would like a bite.”
“No, thank you, sir,” answered Clare, with a smile. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be digestible. They say toasted cheese ain’t. I wish I had a try though!”
“You’re a comical shaver, you are!” said the blacksmith. “You’ll come to the gallows yet, if you’re a good boy! Them Sunday-schools is doin’ a heap for the gallows!—That ain’t your brother?”
By this time Tommy had begun to feel at home with the blacksmith, from whose face the cloud had lifted a little, so that he looked less dangerous. He had edged nearer to the fire, and now stood in the light of it.