Something like a shiver of surprise broke over the boy’s face at the question; just as though he had had no food for weeks. Tod gave him a shilling, and told him to go in and buy some. But the boy looked at the money doubtingly.
“A whole shilling! They’d think I stole it.”
Tod took back the money, and went in himself. He was as proud a fellow as you’d find in the two counties, and yet he would do all sorts of things that many another glanced askance at.
“I want half-a-pound of beef,” said he to the man who was carving, “and some bread, if you sell it. And I’ll take one of those small pork-pies.”
“Shall I put the meat in paper, sir?” asked the man: as if doubting whether Tod might prefer to eat it there.
“Yes,” said Tod. And the customers, working-men and a woman in a drab shawl, turned and stared at him.
Tod paid; took it all in his hands, and we left the shop. He did not mind being seen carrying the parcels; but he would have minded letting them know that he was feeding a poor boy.
“Here, Dor, you can take the things now,” said he, when we had gone a few yards. “Where do you live?”
Dor explained after a fashion. We knew Worcester well, but failed to understand. “Not far from the big church,” he said; and at first we thought he meant the cathedral.