"Oh, I'm glad, I'm real glad," shouted Bertie, bounding away.
"Whitefoot, Whitefoot!" he called, at the top of his voice; "Whitefoot! come."
"There's your donkey," shouted Jim, "coming up the hill with Star and Spot. There, just behind that big oak by the lake."
So Bertie called again, "Whitefoot—Whitefoot!" and presently the donkey gave a little neigh in reply. I suppose he wanted to say, "I hear you, my young master, and I'll go as quick as I can;" for he started off at once into a brisk trot. Very soon, to Bertie's great delight, the lost donkey was eating the corn out of his hand.
When the men walked side by side on their way to the old wall which they were pulling down for stone, Tom repeated to his companion what had passed between him and Bertie.
"That's the kind o' religion I believe in," he exclaimed, making a furious gesture with his brawny arm. "The Squire isn't one of your sot-up men who thinks working-folks are made of different stuff, and haven't any more souls than a beast. He lives his religion right straight through the week instead o' keeping it bottled up for Sunday use, like some long-faced men I could name."
"Jes so," answered Jim, with an approving nod.
"Do you suppose I'd ever cheat him out of the valley of a cent arter such a lesson as that boy give me? No, not for my right arm. I know when I'm treated like a man."