they had made no friends. Father didn't like the people. He had not wished Hugh to make friends with other boys when he went to school. They had lived their lonely existence on the useless little farm, seeing scarcely any one. Hugh had rarely been into the township, since it was miles beyond the bush school. Father had visited it alone, and he didn't think he had a single friend there.
What would he do?
There was food for a few days in the house, he knew. But when it was gone there would be nothing but the grub-infested apples, and he doubted whether they would keep him alive. And to stay in the house alone, even in daylight, had been dreadful: he shuddered to think what it would be at night, with only the dreary calling of the bitterns for company. Yet he must stay there, because there was nowhere else to go.
He knelt on his bed, looking out of the window. All the Circus people were eating breakfast. He smelt bacon and chops: hungry smells, that made him feel more desperate than ever. There were gay sounds of laughter and happy voices; every one was in good spirits after the long day's rest. And beyond the wagons he could see a little black shape: Tinker, busy at the unusual luxury of a breakfast of chaff. Hugh could not bear the sight. He buried his face again in the pillow.
Big Dan took the ladder of his caravan in two steps that morning, still simmering with wrath. Mrs. Dan, brushing Nita's hair in the cabin, heard, and knew that it would be well to feed her lord quickly.