While I stared at the man in wonder, Barberin and the owner of the tavern talked in low voices. I knew that I was the subject of their talk. Barberin was telling him that he had brought me to the village to take me to the mayor’s office, so that the mayor should ask the Charity Home to pay for my keep. That was all that dear Mother Barberin had been able to do, but I felt that if Barberin could get something for keeping me I had nothing to fear.
The old man, who without appearing, had evidently been listening, suddenly pointed to me, and turning to Barberin said with a marked foreign accent:
“Is that the child that’s in your way?”
“That’s him.”
“And you think the Home is going to pay you for his keep?”
“Lord! as he ain’t got no parents and I’ve been put to great expense for him, it is only right that the town should pay me something.”
“I don’t say it isn’t, but do you think that just because a thing is right, it’s done?”
“That, no!”
“Well, then I don’t think you’ll ever get what you’re after.”
“Then he goes to the Home, there’s no law that forces me to keep him in my place if I don’t want to.”