"At need."
"Take a licking?"
"I have learnt that."
"By God he has, I'll warrant," chuckled the man who had found her.
"Hum," said Falve. "Are you hungry, Roy?"
"No."
"Then do you cook the supper and I'll eat it. Do you see this little belt o' mine?"
"Yes."
"It's a terror, this belt. Don't seek to be nearer acquaint. Go and cook."
The ram proved excellent eating—tender and full of blood. Humane, even liberal, counsels prevailed over the sated assembly. The boy seemed docile enough, and likely; just a Jack of the build needful to climb the stacks of smouldering boughs, see to the fires, cord the cut wood and the burnt wood, lead the asses, cook the dinner, call the men—to be, in fact, what Jack should be. Jack he was, and Jack he should be called. Falve held out for a thrashing as a set-off; it seemed unnatural, he said, to have a belt and a boy at arms'-length. It was outvoted on account of the lateness of the hour, but only delayed. The beds were made ready, and Jack and his masters went to sleep.