"Keep this by you," said Mrs. Lethbridge; "and if ever anything happens to Miss Farebrother, and you don't know what to do, come for me at once. Here's a two-shilling piece. You must not spend it; you must put it carefully away, in case you need it for this special purpose. The railway fare to London and back is eighteenpence; an omnibus will bring you very near to my house for threepence. You understand?" "I understand, lady. But trust me for taking care of Miss Phoebe." "I do, Tom; but something we don't think of just now might happen, and Miss Phoebe might want you to come for me. Or you might think, 'I wish Miss Phoebe had somebody with her who feels like a mother to her, and who loves her very tenderly.'" "So do I, lady," said Tom, in an earnest tone. "I'll do as you tell me. You can trust me." "I know it, Tom, and so does Miss Phoebe. She says she doesn't know what she should do without you." "_I_ shouldn't know what to do without _her_," said Tom, feeling very proud. That he was trusted, and that his young mistress valued his services, gave him a feeling of self-respect. From that day he became more than ever Phoebe's faithful knight, and it was when Phoebe was twelve years of age that the incident occurred, springing out of his championship of the little maid, which increased Mrs. Pamflett's aversion to him. Tom at that time was twenty-four, and had grown into a long lean man, looking two or three inches taller than he really was because of his extreme lankiness. His coats and trousers were now always too short for his arms and legs, and he was remarkable for a lavish protuberance and exhibition of bone. He was very strong, and was noted as a fleet runner; he could start off at a rapid swinging gait, and keep his wind and pace for hours. This accomplishment had brought grist to his mill on several occasions, when he was backed by a sporting publican against men who had an opinion of themselves as fast runners. "Five shillings if you win, Tom," said the sporting publican, "and nothing if you lose." This was a sufficient incentive, and Tom invariably won, to the satisfaction of most of the on-lookers, for he was a favourite with all who knew him. He had weaknesses, but no vices; his taste for brandy-balls rather increased than diminished with his years, and though temptations to drink were frequently thrown out to him, he was never known to touch a glass of liquor. Not at all a bad sort of fellow, this Tom Barley, and a very handy man to look after our little heroine.