Tom was silent; he did know, had really known from the first, though now his fault stood before him in its unsightliness; all the pretexts by which he had attempted to palliate it fell from it like a veil, and showed the hateful thing it was.  He could not bring himself to acknowledge it, however.  Sullenly he set down the apples and peanuts, murmuring, “I never did it before, anyhow!”

“No, nor never will again, I’m sure, avick!  This’ll be a lifelong lesson to ye,” returned the old woman, with agitation, as she put the dimes back into his hand.  “Go right home with them now, an’ tell yer father all about it.”

“My father!” faltered Tom, doubtful of the consequences of such a confession.

“Well, yer mother, then.  She’ll be gentle with ye, never fear, if ye are really sorry.”

“Indeed I am, Missis Barry,” declared Tom, quite breaking down at last.

“I’m certain ye are, asthore!” continued the good creature, heartily.  “An’, whisper, when ye get home go to yer own little room, an’ there on yer bended knees ask God to forgive ye.  Make up yer mind to shun bad company for the future; an’ never, from this hour, will we speak another word about this—­either ye to me or I to ye,—­save an’ except ye may come an’ say:  ’I’ve done as ye bid me, Missis Barry.  It’s all hunkey dory!’”

The old woman smiled with grim humor as she found herself quoting the boy’s favorite slang expression.

Tom laughed in spite of himself, so droll did it sound from her lips; but at the same time he drew his jacket sleeve across his eyes, which had grown strangely dim, and said: 

“I will, Missis Barry.  You may trust me:  I will.”

And Tom did.  From that day he and the honest old apple-woman were better friends than ever.  Meanwhile her trade improved so much that before long she was able to set up a more pretentious establishment,—­a genuine stand, with an awning to replace the faithful umbrella, which was forthwith honorably retired from service.  Here she carried on a thriving business for several years, Tom, though now a student at St. Jerome’s College, often bought apples and peanuts of her.

“You see that old woman?” said he to a comrade one day.  “Don’t look much like an angel, does she?”

His friend, glancing at the queer figure and plain, ordinary features, was amused at the comparison.

“And yet,” continued Tom, earnestly, “she proved a second Guardian Angel to me once, and I’ll bless her all my life for it.”

“Better than riches.”

I.

“Cash!  Cash! here!” cried an attendant at the stationery counter of one of New York’s great shopping emporiums.  At the summons a delicate-looking little girl came wearily up, and held out a small wicker basket for the goods and the money.  “Be quick now:  the lady’s in a hurry.”