And the pater, after holding forth a bit about thrift versus extravagance, handed out the sovereign. Tod betook himself to the barn. There sat Mack on the inverted wheelbarrow, at his dinner of cold bacon and bread, and looking most disconsolate.
“Found the things, Mack?”
“Me found ’em, Mr. Joseph! No, sir; and I bain’t ever likely to find ’em, that’s more. They are clean walked off, they are. When I thinks o’ them there beautiful boots, and that there best smock-frock, I be fit to choke, I be!”
Tod was fit to choke, keeping his countenance. “What was their value, Mack?”
“They were of untold val’e, sir, to me. I’d not hardly ha’ lost ’em for a one-pound note.”
“Would a pound replace them?”
Mack, drawing his knife across the bread and bacon, looked up. Tod spoke more plainly.
“Could you buy new ones with a pound?”
“Bless your heart, sir, and where be I to get a pound from? I was just a-calkelating how long it ’ud take me to save enough money up——”