The old woman paused a second, as if suddenly impressed by the difference in his manner; then, by a shake of the head, she strove to banish the thought, which she reproached herself for as an unworthy suspicion, and smiled as if to reassure herself.  With a pleasant word she put the well-filled bags into Tom’s hands, and received the silver he offered in payment—­three bright new dimes.  At that moment she caught a glimpse of Ed Brown lurking in the area way of a house at the other end of the block.  The sight filled her with a vague misgiving which she could not have explained.  She glanced again at Tom; he was nervous and excited.

“Wait a bit,” said she, laying a restraining hand upon his arm.

“What is the matter?  Didn’t I give you just the price?” he inquired, somewhat impatiently.

The old woman bent forward and peered anxiously into his face; her kind but searching eyes seemed to look down into his very soul, as, in a voice trembling with emotion, she replied:  “Yes:  but tell me, asthore, where did ye get the money?”

Tom’s countenance changed; he tried to put her off, saying, “Pshaw!  Why do you want to ask a fellow such a question?  Haven’t I bought more than this of you before?”

“Troth an’ ye have, dear; but not in this way, I’m thinkin’,” she answered.

“It’s all right.  Do let me go, Missis Barry!” cried he, vexed and beginning to feel decidedly frightened.

“Hi, Tom, come on!” called Ed Brown, emerging from the area.

“Look here, Masther Tom, darlin’!  You’ll not move a step with them things, an’ I’ll not put up that money till I know where it came from.”

“Well, then,” said Tom, doggedly, seeing that escape was impossible, “I got it at home, off the mantel in the sitting-room.”

“Oh, yes!” ejaculated Mrs. Barry, raising her eyes toward heaven, as if praying for the pardon of the offence.

“Why, that’s nothing!” he went on.  “Ed Brown says lots of boys do it.  Some take the change out of their father’s pockets even, if they get a chance.  His father don’t mind a bit.  He always has plenty of cash, Ed has.”

“Ah, yes, that ne’er-do-well, Ed Brown!” said the old woman, shaking her fist at the distant Ed, who, realizing that Tom had got into trouble, disappeared in a twinkling.

“An’ his father don’t mind!  Then it’s because he knows nothin’ about it.  They’ll come a day of reckonin’ for him.  An’ you—­”

“Oh, the folks at home won’t care!” persisted Tom, thoroughly ashamed, but still anxious to excuse himself.  “Mother always says that everything in the house is for the use of the family.  If we children should make a raid on the pantry, and carry off a pie or cake, she might punish us for the disobedience, but she wouldn’t call it stealing.”  He blushed as he uttered the ugly word.

“Yes, but to take money is different, ye know,” continued his relentless mentor, whose heart, however, was sorrowing over him with the tenderness of a mother for her child.