A CHILD OF THE JAGO
sheepishly; tried to frown, failed, and grinned again. He had only been out a few weeks from that six moon. Presently he said: "Awright, Father; you do rub it into a bloke, no mistake."
The grin persisted as he looked first at the wall, then at the pavement, then down the street, but never in the parson's face.
"Ah, there's a deal of good in a blister, sometimes, isn't there. Josh? What's that I see—a clock? Not another odd job, eh?"
It was, indeed, a small nickel-plated American clock which Josh had under his coat, and which he now partly uncovered with positive protests. "No, s 'elp me, Father, it's all straight—all fair trade. Father—jist a swop for somethink else, on me solemn davy. That 's wot it is. Father—straight!"
"Well, I'm glad you thought to get it. Josh," Father Sturt pursued, still twitching the button-hole. "You never
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