“The bigger the better,” said the boy, smiling bitterly. “I’ve got to lose myself for awhile, you know, so that brute cannot find me.”
He nodded toward the Poor Farm and Marion understood the gesture.
“I hate him!” she said, with a stamp of her foot. “I’ve hated him ever since he hit you that day, the monster!”
“Well, he’s hit me a good many times since,” said Bert, slowly. There was a hard ring in his voice that cut the air like a bit of metal.
“Have you any money, Bert?” asked Marion, after a minute.
“Not a cent,” said the boy, doggedly; “but I reckon I can earn some. I’ll have to steal my ride to the city, that’s the part that’s bothering me.”
“No you won’t!” said Marion, stoutly. “I’ve got five dollars, Bert! Quick, come back to the house with me! You’ve got to do it!”
“Oh, I can’t take your money,” began Bert, but Marion stopped him.
“You shall take it. Come!” she said, commandingly, as she caught his arm and almost dragged him toward the farm-house.
Leaving Bert hidden behind a clump of lilacs in the yard, Marion crept stealthily around to a side door and into the house to get her five dollars.