Now it happened oddly enough, that on that Sunday, of all the Sundays in the year, the widow should call in to rest a little at Samuel Price’s, to tell over again the lamentable story of the apples, and to consult with him how the thief might be brought to justice.  But O, reader, guess, if you can, for I am sure I cannot tell you, what was her surprise, when, on going into Samuel Price’s kitchen, she saw her own redstreaks lying in the window!  The apples were of a sort too remarkable for color, shape, and size, to be mistaken.  There was not such another tree in the parish.

Widow Brown immediately screamed out, “’Las-a-day! as sure as can be, here are my redstreaks; I can swear to them in any court.”  Samuel Price, who believed his sons to be as honest as himself, was shocked and troubled at the sight.  He knew he had no redstreaks of his own; he knew there were no apples in the window when he went to church; he did verily believe these apples to be the widow’s.  But how they came there he could not possibly guess.  He called for Tom, the only one of his sons who now lived at home.  Tom was at the Sunday-school, which he had never once missed since Mr. Wilson the minister had set one up in the parish.  Was such a boy likely to do such a deed?

A crowd had by this time got about Price’s door, among which was Giles and his boys, who had already taken care to spread the news that Tom Price was the thief.  Most people were unwilling to believe it.  His character was very good, but appearances were strongly against him.  Mr. Wilson now came in.  He was much concerned that Tom Price, the best boy in his school, should stand accused of such a crime.  He sent for the boy, examined, and cross-examined him.  No marks of guilt appeared.  But still, though he pleaded not guilty, there lay the redstreaks in his father’s window.

All the idle fellows in the place, who were most likely to have committed such a theft themselves, fell with great vengeance on poor Tom.  The wicked seldom give any quarter.  “This is one of your sanctified ones!” cried they.  “This was all the good that Sunday-schools did!  For their parts, they never saw any good come by religion.  Sunday was the only day for a little pastime; and if poor boys must be shut up with their godly books, when they ought to be out taking a little pleasure, it was no wonder they made themselves amends by such tricks.”

Another said he should like to see parson Wilson’s righteous one well whipped.  A third hoped he would be clapped in the stocks for a young hypocrite as he was; while old Giles, who thought it was the only way to avoid suspicion by being more violent than the rest, declared, that “he hoped the young dog would be transported for life.”

Mr. Wilson was too wise and too just to proceed against Tom without full proof.  He declared the crime was a very heavy one, and he feared that heavy must be the punishment.  Tom, who knew his own innocence, earnestly prayed to God that it might be made to appear as clear as the noonday; and very fervent were his secret devotions on that night.