“To be sure. ‘There’s sunshine after rain, my boys; there’s sunshine after rain,’” he sang, making up words, and a peculiar doleful tune of his own, as he set-to again and hammered vigorously at a piece of leather. “Work away, Union Jack, and sing, you dog—‘There’s sunshine af—aft—after—’”
The hammer fell at his feet, and he rose once more.
“Go away, Jack, my boy,” he said, in a different tone of voice.
“No, no, master: don’t send me back,” cried the boy passionately. “I’m very sorry; and I’ll try so—so very hard not to be hungry.”
“Hush, my boy, hush!” said Dick softly.
“And when I am, master, I’ll never—never say I am. Don’t send me away.”
“Tell him—tell him, mother,” whispered Dick, who had been so near breaking down before that the boy’s passionate appeal completely unmanned him.
“There’s nobody to care for there, master, and it’s all whitewash. Miss Jessie, please ask him not to send me away.”
“Come here, Jack,” said Mrs Shingle.
“No, no, missus; I’ll stop here on bread and water—I will, missus. Please let me stay!”