"They dote on it."
"Be you a creamery shark?"
"No—course not. I'm chasing one. I'm a farmer."
The small, keen-eyed girl looked him all over. He was the creamery shark himself, and he certainly had an oily, greasy appearance befitting his fondness for cream. However, she did not care what he was if he served her purpose.
"Will you gimme a lift?" she asked.
"A lift—where?"
"Anywhere out o' this," and she pointed back to the smart, white village up the river.
"Now what be you?" he said, cunningly.
"I be a runaway."