Tommy restrained himself, and gradually recovering, told Clare what he had discovered, but not what he had found.
“There’s something yellow on your jacket! What is it?” said Clare. “I do believe—yes, it is!—you’ve been eating an egg! Now I remember! I saw egg-shells, more than two or three, lying in the yard, and the poor hen walking about looking for her eggs! You little rascal! You pig of a boy! I won’t thrash you this time, because you’ve fetched your own thrashing. But—!”
He finished the sentence by shaking his fist in Tommy’s face, and looking as black at him as he was able.
“I do believe it was the hen herself that frighted you!” he added. “She served you right, you thief!”
“I didn’t know there was any harm,” said Tommy, pretending to sob.
“Why didn’t you bring me my share, then?”
“’Cos I knowed you’d ha’ made me give ’em back to the hen!”
“And you didn’t know there was any harm, you lying little brute!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Now, look here, Tommy! If you don’t mind what I tell you, you and I part company. One of us two must be master, and I will, or you must tramp. Do you hear me?”