This particular afternoon, when he had helped her over the worst part of the way, she glanced uneasily at the can which he carried, and said: 

“Faith, Masther Tom, it’s afraid I am that they’ll be waitin’ at home for the milk ye were sent for.  Sure I wouldn’t want ye to be blamed for not makin’ haste, avick!  An’ all because of yer doin’ a kindly turn for a poor old woman.”

“No fear of that, ma’am,” answered Tom, confidently.  “There is no hurry; the milk won’t be needed till supper time.”

Then, noticing that she was tired and panting for breath, he took out the stopper and held the can toward her, saying impulsively,

“Have a drink, Missis Barry,—­yes, it will do you good.”

A suspicious moisture dimmed the widow’s faded eyes for a moment, and her heart gave a throb of grateful surprise at the child’s ingenuous friendliness; but she drew back with a deprecating gesture, saying,

“Well, well, Masther Tom, ye’re the thoughtfullest young gentleman that ever I see!  An’ I’m sure I thank ye kindly.  It isn’t for the likes of me to be tellin’ ye what is right an’ proper, but what would yer mother say to yer not bringin’ the milk home just as ye got it from the store, an’ to ye givin’ a poor creature like me a drink out of the can?”

“Oh, she wouldn’t care!” replied Tom.  “Didn’t she say you were welcome at the house any time, to have a cup of tea and get warm by the kitchen fire?  Do you think she’d grudge you a sup of milk?”

“It isn’t that; for I know she wouldn’t, God bless her!” said the apple-woman, heartily.  “Still, asthore, take heed of what I say.  Never meddle with what’s trusted to ye, but carry it safe an’ whole to the person it’s meant for, or the place ye are told to fetch it to.  It’s the best plan, dear.”

“I suppose it is, Missis Barry, generally,” agreed Tom.  “I remember once Ed Brown and I made away with half of a big package of raisins that mother sent me for, and she scolded me about it.  But that was different, you know.  Pshaw!  I didn’t mean to tell you it was Ed. Here we are at your door, ma’am.  I’ll put your things inside—­oh, no!  Never mind.  I was glad to come.  Really I oughtn’t to take it.  Well, thank you.  Good-bye!”

And Tom scampered off with an especially toothsome-looking apple, which the woman forced into his hand.

“Ah, but he’s the dear, blithe, generous-hearted b’y!” she exclaimed, with a warmth of affectionate admiration, as she stood looking after him.  “There’s not a bit of worldly pride or meanness about him.  May the Lord keep him so!  The only thing I’d be afraid of is that, like many such, he’d be easily led.  There’s that Ed Brown now,—­Heaven forgive me, but somehow I don’t like that lad.  Though he’s the son of the richest man in the neighborhood, an’ his people live in grand style, he’s no fit companion for Masther Tom Norris, I’m thinkin’.”

II.