"It's Dick, lady." "Dick--what?" "Dick Mitchel." "Dear me--I thought I had seen the face before," said Mrs. Todhetley to me. "But there are so many boys about here, Johnny; and they all look pretty much alike. How old are you, Dick?" "I'm over ten," answered Dick, with an emphasis on the over. Children catch up ideas, and no doubt he was as eager as the parents could be to impress on the world his fitness to be a ploughboy. "How is it that you have been gleaning, Dick?" "Mother couldn't, 'cause o' the babby. They give me leave to come on since four o'clock: and I've got all this." Dick looked at the stile and then at his bundle of wheat, so I took it while he got over. As we went on down the lane, Mrs. Todhetley inquired whether he wanted to be a ploughboy. Oh yes! he answered, his face lighting up, as if the situation offered some glorious prospect. It 'ud be two shilling a week; happen more; and mother said as he and Totty and Sam and the t'others 'ud get treacle to their bread on Sundays then. Apparently Mrs. Mitchel knew how to diplomatize. "I'll give him one of the rusks, I think, Johnny," whispered Mrs. Todhetley. But while she was taking it from the bag, he ran in with his wheat. She called to him to come back, and gave him one. His mother had taken the wheat from him, and looked out at the door with it in her hands. Seeing her, Mrs. Todhetley went up, and said Mr. Jacobson would not at present do anything. The next minute Mitchel appeared pulling at his straw hair. "It is hard lines," he said, humbly, "when the lad's of a' age to be earning, and the master can't be got to take him on. And me to ha' worked on the same farm, man and boy; and father afore me." "Mr. Jacobson thinks the boy would not be strong enough for the work." "Not strong enough, and him rising eleven!" exclaimed Mitchel, as if the words were some dreadful aspersion on Dick. "How can he be strong if he gets no work to make him strong, ma'am? Strength comes with the working--and nobody don't oughtn't to know that better nor the master. Anyhow, if he _don't_ take him, it'll be cruel hard lines for us." Dick was outside, dividing the rusk with a small girl and boy, all three seated in the lane, and looking as happy over the rusk as if they had been children in a fairy tale. "It's Totty," said he, pausing in the work of division to speak, "and that 'un's Sam." Mrs. Todhetley could not resist the temptation of finding two more rusks, which made one apiece. "He is a good-natured little fellow, Johnny," she remarked, as we went along. "Intelligent, too: in that he takes after his mother." "Would it be wrong to let him go on the farm as ploughboy?"