“And thee says he is young?”
“Yes, hardly more than a boy.”
“Does thee think he has had any breakfast?”
“Probably not; but I’ll carry him some after I’ve been out and fed the cattle,” answered her son, who was a farmer as well as a sheriff.
“Is thee willing I should take it to him?”
“Certainly, if you want to, only be very careful about locking everything securely after you,” replied the sheriff, who was accustomed to requests of this kind. “I don’t know why you should trouble yourself about him though, I’ll feed him directly.”
“Why should we ever trouble ourselves, Robert, about those who are strangers, or sick, or in prison? Besides, perhaps the poor lad has no mother, while just now he must sorely feel the need of one.”
Thus it happened that a few minutes later Rod Blake was startled from his unhappy reverie by the appearance of an old lady in a dove-colored dress, a snowy cap and kerchief, in front of his door. As she unlocked it and stepped inside, he saw that she bore in her hands a tray on which a substantial breakfast was neatly arranged. The lad sprang to his feet, but faint from hunger and exhaustion as he was, he cast only one glance at the tempting tray. Then he gazed earnestly into the face of his visitor.
Setting the tray down on a stool, for there was no table in the cell, the old lady said: “I thought thee might be hungry my poor lad, and so have brought thee a bit of breakfast.”
“Oh, madam! Don’t you know me? Don’t you remember me?” cried Rod eagerly.