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Tom Gerrard

Louis Becke
Tom Gerrard

CHAPTER I

“Hallo! young lady, what on earth are you doing here?” and Gerrard bent down over his horse’s shoulder, and looked inquiringly into the face of a small and exceedingly ill-clad girl of about ten years of age.

“Nothing, sir, I only came out for a walk, and to get some pippies.”

“And where do you get them?”

“Down there, sir, on the sand,” and the child pointed with a strong, sun-browned hand to the beach, which was within a mile.

“Eat them?”

“Yes—they’re lovely. Jim and I roast them in the stockman’s kitchen when auntie has gone to bed.”

“And who is Jim?”

“Jim Incubus; I’m Mary Incubus.”

“Mary what?”

“Incubus, sir.”