“I’ve larnt why Colly could not eat his dinner yesterday.”
“Well, why was it?”
“I’ve larnt that the nager’s anger with Colly is all a pretince, an’ that she is an old she-schemer.”
“Nonsense, Bill; that is all a fancy of yours,” said Colin, who, with the child on his shoulders, was now walking alongside his companions.
“It is no fancy of mine, mon,” answered Bill, “but a fancy o’ the woman for a bra’ fair luddie. What is it that she gives you to eat, Maister Colly?”
Seeing that it was idle to conceal his good fortune any longer, Colin now confessed it, informing them that the woman, whenever she could do so without being seen, had given him a handful of dried figs, with a drink of camel’s milk from a leathern bottle which she carried under her cloak.
Notwithstanding the opinion they had just expressed, on the enjoyment attending prolonged thirst and hunger, Colin’s companions congratulated him on his good fortune, one and all declaring their willingness to take charge of the little darkey, on the condition of being similarly rewarded.
They had no suspicion at that moment that their opinions might soon undergo a change; and that Colin’s supposed good fortune would ere long become a source of much uneasiness to all of them.