ne'er as fickle as you think. I've but one love in the world that's
left me--my kiddie."

"Ay, an' 'ow's the kiddie?" asked Matt Peke--"Thrivin' as iver?"

"Fine! As strong a little chap as you'll see between Quantocks and
Land's End. He'll be four come Martinmas."

"Zo agein' quick as that!" commented Joltram with a broad grin. "For
zure 'e be a man grow'd! Tha'll be puttin' the breechez on 'im an'
zendin' 'im to the school----"

"Never!" interrupted Tom defiantly. "They'll never catch my kiddie if I
know it! I want him for myself,--others shall have no part in him. He
shall grow up wild like a flower of the fields--wild as his mother
was--wild as the wild roses growing over her grave----"

He broke off suddenly with an impatient gesture.

"Psha! Why do you drag me over the old rough ground talking of Kiddie!"
he exclaimed, almost angrily. "The child's all right. He's safe in camp
with the women."

"Anywheres nigh?" asked Bill Bush.

Tom o' the Gleam made no answer, but the fierce look in his eyes showed
that he was not disposed to be communicative on this point. Just then
the sound of voices raised in some dispute on the threshold of the
"Trusty Man," caused all the customers in the common room to pause in
their talking and drinking, and to glance expressively at one another.
Miss Tranter's emphatic accents rang out sharply on the silence.

"It wants ten minutes to ten, and I never close till half-past ten," she
said decisively. "The law does not compel me to do so till eleven, and I
resent private interference."

"I am aware that you resent any advice offered for your good," was the
reply, delivered in harsh masculine tones. "You are a singularly
obstinate woman. But I have my duty to perform, and as minister of this
parish I shall perform it."

"Mind your own business first!" said Miss Tranter, with evident
vehemence.

"My business is my duty, and my duty is my business,"--and here the male
voice grew more rasping and raucous. "I have as much right to use this
tavern as any one of the misled men who spend their hard earnings here
and neglect their homes and families for the sake of drink. And as you
do not close till half-past ten, it is not too late for me to enter."

During this little altercation, the party round the table in the common
room sat listening intently. Then Dubble, rousing himself from a
pleasant ale-warm lethargy, broke the spell.

"Dorned if it aint old Arbroath!" he said.

"Ay,