I do not know if, on his tramps, Tommy had been in a town before, but to Clare all he saw bore the aspect of perfect novelty, notwithstanding the few city-shapes that floated in faintest shadow, like memories of old dreams, in his brain. He was delighted with the grand look of the place, with its many people and many shops. His hope of work at once became brilliant and convincing. Noiselessly and suddenly Tommy started from his side, but so much occupied was he with what he beheld and what he thought, that he neither saw him go nor missed him when gone. He became again aware of him by finding himself pulled toward the entrance of a narrow lane. Tommy pulled so hard that Clare yielded, and went with him into the lane, but stopped immediately. For he saw that Tommy had under his arm a big loaf, and the steam of newly-baked bread was fragrant in his nostrils. Never smoke so gracious greeted those of incense-loving priest. Tommy tugged and tugged, but Clare stood stock-still. “Where did you get that beautiful loaf, Tommy?” he asked. “Off on a baker’s cart,” said Tommy. “Don’t be skeered; he never saw me! That was my business, an’ I seed to ’t.” “Then you stole it, Tommy?” “Yes,” grumbled Tommy, “--if that’s the name you put upon it when your trousers is so slack you’ve got to hold on to them or they’d trip you up!” “Where’s the cart?” “In the street there.” “Come along.” Clare took the loaf from Tommy, and turned to find the baker’s cart. Tommy’s face fell, and he was conscious only of bitterness. Why had he yielded to sentiment--not that he knew the word--when he longed like fire to bury his sharp teeth in that heavenly loaf? Love--not to mention a little fear--had urged him to carry it straight to Clare, and this was his reward! He was going to give him up to the baker! There was gratitude for you! He ought to have known better than trust _anybody_, even Clare! Nobody was to be trusted but yourself! It did seem hard to Tommy. They had scarcely turned the corner when they came upon the cart. The baker was looking the other way, talking to some one, and Clare thought to lay down the loaf and say nothing about it: there was no occasion for the ceremony of apology where offence was unknown. But in the very act the baker turned and saw him. He sprang upon him, and collared him. The baker was not nice to look at. “I have you!” he cried, and shook him as if he would have shaken his head off. “It’s quite a mistake, sir!” was all Clare could get out, so fierce was the earthquake that rattled the house of his life. “Mistaken am I? I like that!--Police!” And with that the baker shook him again. A policeman was not far off; he heard the man call, and came running. “Here’s a gen’leman as wants the honour o’ your acquaintance, Bob!” said the baker. But Tommy saw that, from his size, he was more likely to get off than Clare if he told the truth. “Please, policeman,” he said, “it wasn’t him; it was me as took the loaf.”