"I wish to see you, sir," said Tom, undaunted. "I have told the girl that I didn't come here to sell berries; but she objects to my seeing you."
Squire Hudson was far from an amiable man, and this explanation made him angry with the servant. He turned upon her fiercely.
"What do you mean, you trollop," he demanded, "by refusing to let the boy see me? What do you mean by your insolence, I say?"
Bridget was overwhelmed, for the squire's temper was like a tornado.
"I thought he wanted to sell berries," she faltered.
"That isn't true," said Tom. "I told you expressly that I picked the berries for use at home, and had none to sell."
"Go back to the kitchen, you trollop!" thundered the squire. "You deserve to go to jail for your outrageous conduct."
Bridget did not venture to answer a word, for it would only have raised a more violent storm, but retreated crestfallen to her own realm, and left our hero in possession of the field. She contented herself with muttering under her breath what she did not dare to speak aloud.
"You are Tom Nelson, are you not?" asked the squire, adjusting his spectacles, and looking more carefully at the boy.
"Yes, sir."