Ida made the required promise, and was allowed to go.

CHAPTER XIV.

Doubts and fears.

Well, what kept you so long?” asked Peg, impatiently, as Ida rejoined her at the corner of the street, where she had been waiting for her.  “And where’s your gingerbread?”

“He wouldn’t let me have it,” said Ida.

“And why not?”

“Because he said the money wasn’t good.”

“Stuff! it’s good enough,” said Peg, hastily.  “Then we must go somewhere else.”

“But he said the dollar I gave him last week wasn’t good, and I promised to bring him another to-morrow, or he wouldn’t have let me go.”

“Well, where are you going to get your dollar to carry him?”

“Why, won’t you give it to me?” said Ida, hesitatingly.

“Catch me at such nonsense!  But here we are at another shop.  Go in and see whether you can do any better there.  Here’s the money.”

“Why, it’s the same piece.”

“What if it is?”

“I don’t want to pass bad money.”

“Tut, what hurt will it do?”

“It is the same as stealing.”

“The man won’t lose anything.  He’ll pass it off again.”

“Somebody’ll have to lose it by and by,” said Ida, whose truthful perceptions saw through the woman’s sophistry.

“So you’ve taken up preaching, have you?” said Peg, sneeringly.  “Maybe you know better than I what is proper to do.  It won’t do to be so mighty particular, and so you’ll find out if you live with me long.”

“Where did you take the dollar?” asked Ida, with a sudden thought; “and how is it that you have so many of them?”

“None of your business,” said her companion, roughly.  “You shouldn’t pry into the affairs of other people.”

“Are you going to do as I told you?” she demanded, after a moment’s pause.

“I can’t,” said Ida, pale but resolute.

“You can’t,” repeated Peg, furiously.  “Didn’t you promise to do whatever I told you?”

“Except what was wicked,” interrupted Ida.

“And what business have you to decide what is wicked?  Come home with me.”

Peg, walked in sullen silence, occasionally turning round to scowl upon the unfortunate child, who had been strong enough, in her determination to do right, to resist successfully the will of the woman whom she had every reason to dread.

Arrived at home, Peg walked Ida into the room by the shoulder.

Dick was lounging in a chair, with the inevitable pipe in his mouth.

“Hilloa!” said he, lazily, observing his wife’s movements, “what’s the gal been doing, hey?”

“What’s she been doing?” repeated Peg; “I should like to know what she hasn’t been doing.  She’s refused to go in and buy some gingerbread of the baker, as I told her.”

“Look here, little gal,” said Dick, in a moralizing vein, “isn’t this rayther undootiful conduct on your part?  Ain’t it a piece of ingratitude, when we go to the trouble of earning the money to pay for gingerbread for you to eat, that you ain’t willing to go in and buy it?”