noon
Tom 's mouth worked convulsively ; and presently he wiped his eyes with his dirty shirt sleeve . `` No , he has n't , '' he answered . `` She 's dead this six months . '' They were now almost back to the cellar , and after a moment 's silence , Tom added , -- `` If the corn was mine , you 'd be welcome to as much as you want of it ; but it 's in the agreement that the Squire shall give the oxen their feed at noon . So I bring along the corn from the store ; and he pays the bill . '' `` Oh , I 'm glad , I 'm real glad , '' shouted Bertie , bounding away . `` Whitefoot , Whitefoot ! ''