“Yes, if you can find a spare corner to stow me in.”
“It would be odd if I couldn’t find room for my only brother.”
“So be it, then. You may expect me.”
He rose and taking his hat left the house. Tom and Mrs. Merton were now alone.
CHAPTER X.
TOM DROPS HER TATTERS.
“Now, what is your name, little girl?” asked Mrs. Merton, surveying Tom doubtfully, half sorry that she had undertaken the care of her.
“Tom.”
“That’s a boy’s name.”
“Everybody calls me Tom,—sometimes Tattered Tom.”
“There’s some reason about the first name,” thought Mrs. Merton, as her glance rested on the ragged skirt and well-ventilated jacket of her brother’s protegée.