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Updated: May 18, 2025
At eleven years old he could not be trusted to scare birds, and at half that age the farm-bailiff's eldest child could drive cattle. "And no' just ruin the leedies in new coats and compliments, either, like some ne'er-do-weels," added the farm-bailiff, who had heard with a jealous ear of sixpences given by Miss Betty and Miss Kitty to their wasteful favourite.
It was the farm-bailiff's speckled hat. John Broom hesitated the thick stick became visible. Then a cloud rolled between them, and the child turned, and ran, and ran, and ran coastwards, into the sea mist. John Broom was footsore when he reached the coast, but that keen, life-giving smell had drawn him on and held him up.
The man gave him a shilling for fastening a ring and chain on to the Cocky's ankle, and with this he got the best dinner he had eaten since he lost sight of the farm-bailiff's speckled hat in the mist. And then he went back to the one-eyed sailor, and shipped as cabin-boy again for the homeward voyage. When John Broom did get home he did not go to sea again.
The farm-bailiff's stick was thick and his arm was strong, and he had a tendency to believe that if a flogging was good for a boy, the more he had of it the better it would be for him. And John Broom, who never let a cry escape him at the time, would steal away afterwards and sob out his grief into the long soft coat of the sympathising sheep dog.
There were the farm-bailiff's accounts, several files of bills, an old stirrup, three sets of knee and shoe buckles which had belonged to Mr.
At last the strings gave way, and he cast it triumphantly out of the clothes-basket which served him for cradle. Successive efforts to induce him to wear it proved vain, so Thomasina said the weather was warm and his hair was very thick, and she parted this and brushed it, and Miss Kitty gave the cap to the farm-bailiff's baby, who took to it as kindly as a dumpling to a pudding-cloth.
"I'll get him," said John Broom, casting down his hat. "Ye'll get yer neck thrawed," said the farm-bailiff. "We won't hear of it," said the little ladies. It was not an easy tree to climb, and he had one or two narrow escapes, which kept the crowd breathless, but he shook the hair from his eyes, moistened his hands afresh, and went on. The farm-bailiff's far-away heart was stirred.
And when his son had gone for the perch, and John Broom was safely on the ground, laughing, bleeding, and triumphant, the farm-bailiff said, "Ye're a bauld chiel, John Broom, I'll say that for ye." Unfortunately the favourable impression produced by "the gipsy lad's" daring soon passed from the farm-bailiff's mind. It was partly effaced by the old jealousy of the little ladies favour.
There were the farm-bailiff's accounts, several files of bills, an old stirrup, three sets of knee and shoe buckles which had belonged to Mr.
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