‘There you are mistaken, Sir Giles,’ I returned; ‘but you could hardly be expected to remember the little boy who, many years ago, having stolen one of your apples, came to you to comfort him.’
He laughed heartily.
‘I remember the circumstance well,’ he said. ‘And you were that unhappy culprit? Ha! ha! ha! To tell the truth, I have thought of it many times. It was a remarkably fine thing to do.’
‘What! steal the apple, Sir Giles?’
‘Make the instant reparation you did.’
‘There was no reparation in asking you to box my ears.’
‘It was all you could do, though.’
‘To ease my own conscience, it was. There is always a satisfaction, I suppose, in suffering for your sins. But I have thought a thousand times of your kindness in shaking hands with me instead. You treated me as the angels treat the repentant sinner, Sir Giles.’
‘Well, I certainly never thought of it in that light,’ he said; then, as if wishing to change the subject,—‘Don’t you find it lonely now your uncle is gone?’ he said.
‘I miss him more than I can tell.’