“You may give me a sheet of gingerbread, sir.”

The baker placed it in her hands.

“How much will it be?”

“Twelve cents.”

Ida offered him another silver dollar.

As if to make change, he stepped from behind the counter, and managed to place himself between Ida and the door.

“What is your name, my child?” he asked.

“Ida, sir.”

“Ida?  A very pretty name; but what is your other name?”

Ida hesitated a moment, because Peg had forbidden her to use the name of Crump, and told her if the inquiry was ever made, she must answer Hardwick.

She answered, reluctantly, “My name is Ida Hardwick.”

The baker observed the hesitation, and this increased his suspicions.

“Hardwick!” he repeated, musingly, endeavoring to draw from the child as much information as he could before allowing her to perceive that he suspected her.  “And where do you live?”

Ida was a child of spirit, and did not understand why she should be questioned so closely.  She said, with some impatience, “I am in a hurry, sir, and would like to have you hand me the change as soon as you can.”

“I have no doubt of it,” said the baker, his manner changing; “but you cannot go just yet.”

“And why not?” asked Ida, her eyes flashing.

“Because you have been trying to deceive me.”

“I trying to deceive you!” exclaimed the child, in astonishment.

“Really,” thought Mr. Crump, “she does it well, but no doubt they train her to it.  It is perfectly shocking, such depravity in a child.”

“Don’t you remember buying something here a week ago?” he said, in as stern a tone as his good nature would allow him to employ.

“Yes,” said Ida, promptly; “I bought two rolls at three cents a piece.”

“And what did you offer me in payment?”

“I handed you a silver dollar.”

“Like this?” asked Mr. Crump, holding up the coin.

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you mean to say,” said the baker, sternly, “that you didn’t know it was bad when you handed it to me?”

“Bad!” exclaimed Ida, in great surprise.

“Yes, spurious.  It wasn’t worth one tenth of a dollar.”

“And is this like it?”

“Precisely.”

“Indeed, sir, I didn’t know anything about it,” said Ida, earnestly, “I hope you will believe me when I say that I thought it was good.”

“I don’t know what to think,” said the baker, perplexed.

“I don’t know whether to believe you or not,” said he.  “Have you any other money?”

“That is all I have got.”

Of course, I can’t let you have the gingerbread.  Some would deliver you up into the hands of the police.  However, I will let you go if you will make me one promise.”

“Oh, anything, sir.”

“You have given me a bad dollar.  Will you promise to bring me a good one to-morrow?”