“I don’t want your soap,” answered the man, “an’ I don’t recommend cold turmits of a mornin’. But take one if you like, and clear out. The master’s cart-whip ’ill be about your ears the moment he sees you!” “Ain’t you the master, sir?” “No, I ain’t.” “Then the turnips ain’t yours?” said Clare, looking at him with hungry, regretful eyes, for he could have eaten a raw potato. “You’re a deal too impudent to be hungry!” said the man, making a blow at him with his open hand, which Clare dodged. “Be off with you, or I’ll set the dog on you.” “I’m very sorry,” said Clare. “I did not mean to offend you.” “Clear out, I say. Double trot!” Hungry as the boys were, they must trudge! No bread, no turnip for them! Nothing but trudge, trudge till they dropped! When they had gone about five miles further, they sat down, as if by common consent, on the roadside; and Tommy, used to crying, began to cry. Clare did not seek to stop him, for some instinct told him it must be a relief. By and by a working-man came along the road. Clare hesitated, but Tommy’s crying urged him. He rose and stood ready to accost him. As soon as he came up, however, the man stopped of himself. He questioned Clare and listened to his story, then counselled the boys to go back. “I’m not wanted, sir,” said Clare. “They’d kill _me_,” said Tommy. “God help you, boys!” returned the man. “You may be telling me lies, and you may be telling me the truth!--A liar may be hungry, but somehow I grudge my dinner to a liar!” As he spoke he untied the knots of a blue handkerchief with white spots, gave them its contents of bread and cheese, wiped his face with it, and put it in his pocket; lifted his bag of tools, and went his way. He had lost his dinner and saved his life! The dinner, being a man’s, went a good way toward satisfying them, though empty corners would not have been far to seek, had there been anything to put in them. As it was, they started again refreshed and hopeful. What had come to them once might reasonably come again! Chapter XV. THEIR FIRST HOST.