His promise to Tommy had sprung upon him like a fiery flying serpent.
“Tommy! I thought you said the baby was a girl?”
“Yes, the baby’s a girl; but there’s Tommy as well! He’s another of us.”
“Your brother, of course!”
“No, ma’am; I’m afraid he’s a tramp. But there he is, you see, and I must share with him!”
It grew more and more inexplicable!
A gruff, loud voice came from the yard. It was the farmer’s. He was a bitter-tempered man, and his dislike of tramps was almost hatred. His wife and daughter knew that if he saw the boy he would be worse than rude to him.
“There’s the master!” cried the mother. “Drink, and make haste out of his way.”
“If it’s stealing,—” said Clare.
“Stealing! It’s no stealing! The dairy’s mine! I can give my milk where I please!”