13

“ Foy Cometh in the Morning.” a7

“Wait you,” said Tommy, composedly. “So I
says to the gentleman, ‘Do you think our Reuben’s
that sort of a boy to go and peach on his own father,
and get him put into jail? If there was any chance
of that, I says, ‘take you my word, he’d never have
done what he did.’”

“Well said, indeed,” I cried. “But, Tommy, did
you speak out before the magistrates as bold and
plain as that ?”

“Bless you, I aint afeared, not of nobody—don’t
know how,” replied Tommy. “That's how Pm
going to be a soldier, and defend all you poor
skeery folk agin the Turks and Russians. Oh, I
said a deal more to the gentlemen, and quite brought
“em over to my way of thinking. ‘How could the
boy have learnt about it then ?’ says one. ‘ Please,
sir, and I can ’splain that too, says I. ‘John Bramble
is the quietest man alive,’ I says, ‘but he do take a
drop now and then, and he med ha’ hearn one of
the fellows boasting about it over his liquor, and he
goes home and tells young Reuben afore he’s quite
aware what he’s doing, and Reuben he’s just the
sort of boy to worrit his heart out (and so you are
too) until he’d found a way to stop the mischief ;
and then, when his father hears on it, they has
words, and off he goes.” Tommy nodded at me
triumphantly.