el would tell what he had heard, Tommy would tell what he knew.

Well, then, Shovel had listened at the door, and heard it mewling.

Tommy knowed it well, and it never mewled.

How could Tommy know it?

'Cos he had been with it a long time.

Gosh! Why, it had only comed a minute ago.

This made Tommy uneasy, and he asked a leading question cunningly. A
boy, wasn't it?

No, Shovel's old woman had been up helping to hold it, and she said it
were a girl.

Shutting his mouth tightly; which was never natural to him, the startled
Tommy mounted the stair, listened and was convinced. He did not enter
his dishonored home. He had no intention of ever entering it again. With
one salt tear he renounced--a child, a mother.

On his way downstairs he was received by Shovel and party, who planted
their arrows neatly. Kids cried steadily, he was told, for the first
year. A boy one was bad enough, but a girl one was oh lawks. He must
never again expect to get playing with blokes like what they was.
Already she had got round his old gal who would care for him no more.
What would they say about this in Thrums?

Shovel even insisted on returning him his cap, and for some queer
reason, this cut deepest. Tommy about to charge, with his head down, now
walked away so quietly that Shovel, who could not help liking the funny
little cuss, felt a twinge of remorse, and nearly followed him with a
magnanimous offer: to treat him as if he were still respectable.

Tommy lay down on a distant stair, one of the very stairs where _she_
had sat with him. Ladies, don't you dare to pity him now, for he won't
stand it. Rage was what he felt, and a man in a rage (as you may know if
you are married) is only to be soothed by the sight of all womankind in
terror of him. But you may look upon your handiwork, and gloat, an you
will, on the wreck you have made. A young gentleman trusted one of you;
behold the result. O! O! O! O! now do you understand why we men cannot
abide you?

If she had told him flat that his mother, and his alone, she would have,
and so there was an end of it. Ah, catch them taking a straight road.
But to put on those airs of helplessness, to wave him that gay good-by,
and then the moment his back was turned, to be off through the air
on--perhaps on her muff, to the home he had thought to lure her from. In
a word, to be diddled by a girl when one flatters himself he is
diddling! S'death, a dashing fellow finds it hard to bear. Nev