group of attentive listeners.

"And then,"--continued the farmer--"from what I can make out of this
paper, Tom picked up his baby quite dead. Then he started to run all the
way after the fellow whose motor car had killed it. That's nat'ral
enough!"

"Of course it is!" "I'd a' done it myself!" "Damn them motors!" muttered
the chorus, fiercely.

"If so be the motor 'ad gone on, Tom couldn't never 'ave caught up with
it, even if he'd run till he dropped," went on the farmer--"but as luck
would 'ave it, the thing broke down nigh to Blue Anchor, and Tom got his
chance. Which he took. And--he killed this Lord Wrotham, whoever he
is,--stuck him in the throat with a knife as though he were a pig!"

There was a moment's horrified silence.

"So he wor!" said one man, emphatically--"A right-down reg'lar
road-hog!"

"Then,"--proceeded the farmer, carefully studying the paper again--"Tom,
'avin' done all his best an' worst in this world, gives himself up to
the police, but just 'afore goin' off, asks if he may kiss his dead
baby,----"

A long pause here ensued. Tears stood in many of the men's eyes.

"And," continued the farmer, with a husky and trembling voice--"he takes
the child in his arms, an' all sudden like falls down dead. God rest
him!"

Another pause.

"And what does the paper say about it all?" enquired one of the group.

"It says--wait a minute!--it says--'Society will be plunged into
mourning for Lord Wrotham, who was one of the most promising of our
younger peers, and whose sporting tendencies made him a great favourite
in Court circles.'"

"That's a bit o' bunkum paid for by the fam'ly!" said a great hulking
drayman who had joined the little knot of bystanders, flicking his whip
as he spoke,--"Sassiety plunged into mourning for the death of a
precious raskill, is it? I 'xpect it's often got to mourn that way! Rort
an' rubbish! Tell ye what!--Tom o' the Gleam was worth a dozen o' your
motorin' lords!--an' the hull countryside through Quantocks, ay, an'
even across Exmoor, 'ull 'ave tears for 'im an' 'is pretty little Kiddie
what didn't do no 'arm to anybody more'n a lamb skippin' in the fields.
Tom worn't known in their blessed 'Court circles,'--but, by the
Lord!--he'd got a grip o' the people's heart about here, an' the people
don't forget their friends in a hurry! Who the devil cares for Lord
Wrotham!"

"Who indeed!" murmured the chorus.

"An' who'll say a bad word for Tom o' the Gleam?"

"Nobod