“You are Mr. Canning, I believe,” said Jack.
“That’s my name, that’s my name. But what’s this for? What’s this?”
“I had to borrow a hat from your scarecrow, and take a few ears of your corn to roast, yesterday,” said Jack. “I’ve returned the hat, and this is to settle for the corn. I’m going to begin life new, and I want to begin right with everybody.”
“That’s right, that’s right! You’re welcome to the corn, though; welcome to a few ears of corn, to be sure! to be sure!” cried the shabby old man, pocketing the money, however, and walking off with it, looking, in his old-fashioned, long-tailed, tattered coat, like one of his own scarecrows out taking a little exercise.
“Come, Jack, where are you going?” cried the deacon.
“Back into the office, to find the hat I left there when I ran away.”
“I carried that home. Now let’s be going. There’ll be an outburst in a minute,” said the deacon, casting an anxious glance after Peternot, who was carrying his bag of coin into the jeweller’s shop.
“Jack is going home with me; me and him’s struck a bargain,” said Sellick.
“Fie, fie! nonsense!” said the deacon. “We can’t spare Jack; he’s going with me.”
“I’ll ride with you. I’d like to talk with you a little, and go home and say good by—and—and get my dog,” faltered Jack; “but you know—”