came slyly up, looking impudent now he was filled, with his hands
where his pockets should have been.

"It was you stole the loaf, you little rascal!" said the workman,
seeing thief in every line of the boy.

"Yes," answered Tommy boldly, "an' I don't see no harm. The baker had
lots, and he wasn't 'ungry! It was Clare made a mull of it! He's such
a duffer you don't know! He acshally took it back to the brute! He
deserved what he got! The loaf was mine. It wasn't his! _I_ stole it!"

"Oh, ho! it wasn't his! it was yours, was it?--Why do you go about
with a chap like this, young gentleman?" said the man, turning to
Clare. "I know by your speech you 'ain't been brought up alongside o'
sech as him!"

"I had to go away, and he came with me," answered Clare.

"You'd better get rid of him. He'll get you into trouble."

"I can't get rid of him," replied Clare. "But I shall teach him not to
take what isn't his. He don't know better now. He's been ill-used all
his life."

"You don't seem over well used yourself," said the man.

He saw that Clare's clothes had been made for a boy in good
circumstances, though they had been long worn, and were much
begrimed. His face, his tone, his speech convinced him that they had
been made for _him_, and that he had had a gentle breeding.