Black Giles passed his night in a very different manner.  He set off as soon as it was dark, with his sons and their jackasses laden with their stolen goods.  As such a cry was raised about the apples, he did not think it safe to keep them longer at home, but resolved to go and sell them at the next town; borrowing without leave a lame colt out of the moor to assist in carrying off his booty.

Giles and his eldest sons had rare sport all the way in thinking, that while they were enjoying the profit of their plunder, Tom Price would be whipped round the market-place at least, if not sent beyond sea.  But the younger boy, Dick, who had naturally a tender heart, though hardened by his long familiarity with sin, could not help crying when he thought that Tom Price might perhaps be transported for a crime which he himself had helped to commit.  He had had no compunction about the robbery, for he had not been instructed in the great principles of truth and justice; nor would he, therefore, perhaps have had much remorse about accusing an innocent boy.  But, though utterly devoid of principle, he had some remains of natural feeling and of gratitude.  Tom Price had often given him a bit of his own bread and cheese; and once, when Dick was like to be drowned, Tom had jumped into the pond with his clothes on, and saved his life, when he was just sinking:  the remembrance of all this made his heart heavy.  He said nothing; but, as he trotted, barefoot, after the asses, he heard his father and brothers laugh at having outwitted the godly ones; and he grieved to think how poor Tom would suffer for his wickedness, yet fear kept him silent:  they called him sulky dog, and lashed the asses till they bled.

In the meantime, Tom Price kept up his spirits as well as he could.  He worked hard all day, and prayed heartily night and morning.

“It is true,” said he to himself, “I am not guilty of this sin; but let this accusation set me on examining myself, and truly repenting of all my other sins; for I find enough to repent of, though I thank God I did not steal the widow’s apples.”

At length Sunday came, and Tom went to school as usual.  As soon as he walked in, there was a great deal of whispering and laughing among the worst of the boys; and he overheard them say, “Who would have thought it?  This is master’s favorite!  This is parson Wilson’s sober Tommy!  We sha’n’t have Tommy thrown in our teeth again, if we go to get a birdsnest, or gather a few nuts on a Sunday.”  “Your demure ones are always hypocrites,” says another.  “The still sow sucks all the milk,” says a third.