The little fellow scrambled to him, and putting his tiny chubby arms about the man’s coarse neck, nestled his head upon his shoulder, and turned to gaze at the farmer and his wife.
“Not my bairn!” growled the man; “what d’yer say to that?”
“Lor, Izick, only look,” said the woman in a whisper. “My!”
“Well, what are yer starin’ at?” growled the man defiantly; “didn’t think he were your bairn, did you!”
“Come away, missus,” said the farmer; and the woman reluctantly climbed back into the gig.
“It don’t seem right, Izick, for him to have such a bairn as that,” said the woman, who could not keep her eyes off the child.
“Ah, well! it ar’n’t no business of our’n. Go along!”
This was to the horse, who went off directly in a shambling trot, and the gig rattled along the road; but as long as they remained in sight, the farmer’s wife stared back at the little fellow, and the rough-looking tramp glared at her from among the heather and ling.
“Must be getting on—must be getting on,” he growled to himself; and he kept on muttering in a low tone as he tried to stagger to his feet, but for a time his joints seemed
