"What a sweet picture," instantly thought Rupert.
Then she slowly advanced again, and, instead of pouring the contents of
the pail into a larger dish as was her errand, she placed it on the
table by Rupert, and said, smilingly:
"Vil you have a drink of varm milk?"
"Thank you, thank you."
Then she went back.
Warm milk! What could be more delicious? Rupert sipped the sweet fluid.
How it invigorated him and surcharged him with new life. And given by
such hands, with such a smile! It was a glimpse of past glories.
In the morning Rupert was asked if he wanted a job.
"Yes," was the answer.
"Can you work on a farm?"
"I've been a farmer all my life," was the reply. "I'm not a tramp, as
you understand that term."
"Well, stay around today and I'll see what I can do. I want some help,
but I cannot pay high wages."
"Never mind the wages," said Rupert, "we'll agree on that after a
while."
The young farmer saw that he had no common tramp to deal with, although
he looked rough and travel-stained.
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