And the old dame looked at him through her spectacles one minute,
and two, and three; and then she said, "He's sick; and a bairn's a
bairn, sweep or none."

"Water," said Tom.

"God forgive me!" and she put by her spectacles, and rose, and came
to Tom. "Water's bad for thee; I'll give thee milk." And she
toddled off into the next room, and brought a cup of milk and a bit
of bread.

Tom drank the milk off at one draught, and then looked up, revived.

"Where didst come from?" said the dame.

"Over Fell, there," said Tom, and pointed up into the sky.

"Over Harthover? and down Lewthwaite Crag? Art sure thou art not
lying?"

"Why should I?" said Tom, and leant his head against the post.

"And how got ye up there?"

"I came over from the Place;" and Tom was so tired and desperate he
had no heart or time to think of a story, so he told all the truth
in a few words.

"Bless thy little heart! And thou hast not been stealing, then?"