It is not the thunder that has disturbed the dog, nor is it thunder that the tramp now listens to close at hand.

It is the sound of voices, either inside the shed or just outside it.
Not a strange thing, perhaps, in a storm like this, for two wayfarers like himself to seek shelter--and yet the tramp seems startled by the sound, and signals to the dog to lie down and hold his peace.
"Will it do ?" says one voice; and the tramp perceives that the speakers are standing outside the shed under the shelter of the projecting eaves.
"No.

No good.

Too well looked after, and the people about the wrong sort." "There's a pile of swag there--heaps." "Know that.

Better wait till the family are away." "There's a child, isn't there ?" "A boy--fourteen--only child." "Might work it that way; eh?
Get a trifle for him eh ?" "A thousand, and no questions asked.