In spite of her pitiful protest, however, the young man snatched the scone and ate it remorselessly, looking at Vara all the time with evil eyes, and smiling a smirk of satisfaction. There was no snivelling weakness about him. Hugh Boy never took his eyes off him. Then, when he had finished, the lout rose, coolly stuffed the remainder of their provision into his pocket, and came over towards Vara with his hand stretched out. He caught her by the wrist and sharply twisted her arm. "Shell out your tin," he said. "Out with it now, and no bones about it!" Vara bore the pain as well as she could without crying out. Suddenly, however, the rascal dropped her hand, and snatched Gavin from her arms. He stood on the edge of the ravine over which the bridge went, holding the child, and threatened to throw him over if she did not give him all the money she had. He was, of course, as he told himself, only "kidding" her, but Vara was in wild terror for Gavin. Her particular evil genius had never hesitated to carry out such threatenings. "I will! I will!" cried Vara. And she took the byre lass's shilling out of her pocket and gave it to the man. "Any more?" said he. "Yes, I see there is. Out with it!" And Vara drew out the remainder of the sixpence which the young lover had thrown to her from his cart yesterday. Then the cruel hobbledehoy tossed her the child with a laugh, and sprang sharply round the parapet of the bridge. Pale as ivory, Vara ran after him to watch. The rascal was quite at his ease, for he stopped to light his pipe and take a drink out of a little square bottle. This he stowed away in the tails of his coat, which were very long. Then he waved his hand humorously at Vara and Boy Hugh as they stood by the arch of the bridge. A tall, well-built young fellow, was coming down the road, and a hope sprang up in Vara's mind that he might do something for her. The stranger's round soft hat and dark clothes marked him for a clergyman. But he swung his stick and whistled, which were new things to Vara in one of his cloth. At sight of him the thief pulled down the corners of his mouth and put on his regulation mendicant's whine. "For the love o' God, sir, help a poor fellow that's dyin' o' hunger. I've walked fifty miles without a bite—hope to die if I haven't, sir. I wouldn't tell you a lie, sir." The stalwart young minister smiled, and gave his stick another swing before he spoke. "You have not walked five miles without drinking, anyway, as my nose very plainly tells me. And your pipe is setting your coat on fire at this very moment!" The hobbledehoy plucked his lighted pipe out of his pocket and set his thumb in the bowl. "You are one of the good kind," he persisted; "you are not the sort that would deny a poor chap a sixpence because he takes a draw of tobacco when he can get it?"