"But, Tom," cried Mrs. Pollard, wiping her eyes, "thy clothes be dirty;
I shall have a rare job to get th' muck out of 'em."
This was followed by a general laugh by those who had come to greet Tom and bid him welcome.
"Ay, and thou look'st as though thou hasn't weshed for a week. I thought as aa' sodjers kept theirsens clean."
"I'll wash right enough when I get home, mother," laughed Tom.
"Holloa, Tom. I am glad to see you," and Polly Powell made her way through the crowd.
"Thank you," replied Tom quietly; "have you brought one of your young men with you, Polly?"
"I have not got any young men," was Polly's reply. Whereupon there was a general laugh of incredulity.
Polly, heedless of the crowd, and although angered at the remarks that were made, still held her ground.
"You are coming down to the Thorn and Thistle, aren't you, Tom?" she said; "mother and father are expecting you."
"No, thank you, Polly," said Tom. "I am going home with my mother and father. Besides, I don't want to play gooseberry."