Poor thing! he is evidently very sorry.
‘You won’t give me up, miss?’
‘No, no!’ cries Susan hastily. ‘But I do hope you see and are grieved for what you are doing. When people are so good and so generous as to let other people go through their grounds and get a great deal of enjoyment out of them, I think the least those others may do is to respect them, and their shrubs, and fruit, and flowers.’
‘You’re right, miss. I seem as if I never saw it like that till now.’
‘Ah! that’s what they all say,’ says Susan sadly, and with a sigh. She has a good deal to do with her father’s impenitent penitents. ‘But you are no doubt from some distant parish. A tramp, I suppose,’ says Susan, with another sigh. ‘At all events, I am sure you do not belong to this part of the world, as your voice is strange to me.’
‘I’ve come a long way, miss, indeed.’
‘Poor man! Perhaps you are hungry,’ says Susan. Again she searches her pocket, and produces the last coin in it—the last coin she has in the world, for the matter of that—and lays a sixpenny bit on the lowest rung of the ladder.
‘Perhaps this may help you,’ says she. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t any more, but I haven’t. And now remember I expect you to keep your promise. I shall not report you, or get you into trouble of any sort; in fact, this’—gently—‘shall be a secret between you and me; but I do expect you to go away without those cherries, and with the promise never to steal again.’
‘I promise you that, miss, most gratefully. I’ll never steal again. But, miss, might I give the cherries to you or the young gentleman?’
‘No, no!’ says Susan in horror. She catches Jacky’s hand and draws him away from temptation. After going a yard or two, however, she looks back; and the thief, who has been looking after her, again pulls his cap hurriedly over his guilty face.