It was some moments before Mr. Shindle was ready to go on board the ferry-boat, because of the questions which Tom and Bob thought necessary to ask concerning the farm, and when they were seated on the steamer where Josiah could talk unreservedly, owing to the fact that his friends were, perforce, some distance away, he asked seriously:—
“Does it cost much to keep a boy or a girl about my age?”
“Well, now, that depends,” the farmer replied as he rubbed his chin reflectively; “if they were to be kept the year ’round, I reckon what they’d take from the table wouldn’t be missed; but when it comes to fillin’ ’em up for a week, they get away with an amazin’ power of vittles—not that I begrudge what a person eats at our house, though,” he added quickly.
“Would it cost a great deal to keep a child like me?”
“That depends. You never was a careful boy with shoe-leather, Josiah, an’ don’t take so kindly to work as I wish you did. Now, them Berry youngsters will stay in the field all day long with never a whimper; but you no sooner weed two or three rows than you’re done, and want to skylark in the woods, catchin’ turtles, or somethin’ like that. There’s a good many times that a boy’s a heap of trouble, even if you don’t count the expense.”
“I’m talkin’ of a girl, father.”
Up to this moment Farmer Shindle probably thought the questions were asked from motives of curiosity; and now the good man turned squarely around in his seat as he looked at the boy earnestly, and asked:—
“What have you got in your head, Josiah?”
This was not exactly the time when Master Shindle intended to present the story of the match-girl. He had expected to bring his father gradually up to the point where he could propose, without exciting too much astonishment, that she be invited to the farm for a long visit.
It was not possible to further prepare him for what was coming, however, and he plunged boldly into the matter by telling all he knew about the child who sold matches on Chatham Square.