“Keep it!” What was there in that thought to make Berty’s heart beat so, and her head grow giddy? What was there to make her clinch the pocket-book tighter, and hide it in her dress, and glance round to see if any one was looking? Was it a good angel, think you, that whispered in Berty’s ear at this moment—“Keep it! If any one is to keep it, why not you? You did not see him lose it; how do you know to whom it belongs? You found it in the street; and what is found in the street belongs to the sweepers. And you prayed, too; how can you tell but this is an answer to your prayer? It is a good fat one. Surely, it holds enough to buy a Christmas tree. Look at it and see if it does not.”
It might have been an angel; very likely it was; but, truly, I think such angels are very poor help in growing Christmas trees.
CHAPTER VI.
TIM TURNS POLICEMAN.
Tim came back to the crossing towards night, his round face rosier and merrier than ever, and a new little splint basket on his arm, which Berty would have wondered over at any other time, but did not notice now. She sat upon the curb-stone with her basket beside her, and her hands folded in her lap, thinking as intently as on the night when we found her at the attic window. But there was a flush on her face, and a strange look of care in her eyes, for which Tim could not account, and which he thought boded little good to the wished-for tree. Still, Tim thought he carried the cure for all such trouble in his breeches’ pocket, if he could but get Berty to take it. So he began, cautiously, “Well, Berty, so you’re waiting, for me; how goes it?”
The child turned and looked at him vacantly, but did not answer. “Bad enough?” said Tim, sitting down beside her. “Well, honey, never mind. You’ll let yer own Tim help ye, sure ye will. An’ he’s a rich man the night. Faix, it’s not a rag-picker he is at all any more, but an apple-boy; hooroo! Whist, Berty,” he added, as the girl started nervously at this outburst. “Whist, Berty, an’ I’ll tell ye. I had a bright thought whin I left ye the morn; an’ I just scampered home an’ tuk the fifty cints from the ould stockin’ fut, where uncle Teddy bade me keep ’em; an’ I wint to the market an’ bought this tidy basket, d’ye see? an’ filled it wid apples from a stall; an’ then I wint down to the ferry an’ sold ’em. And whin the apples were all gone, I filled it wid oranges; an’ whin the oranges were gone, I filled it wid chestnuts; an’ whin the chestnuts was gone, I filled it wid pennies, d’ye see?”—and, suiting the action to the word, Tim poured a jingling stream of pennies from his pocket into the basket.
“There, darlint,” said he, coaxingly, placing the basket upon Berty’s knee. “There, darlint, ye won’t mourn for yer luck now any more. Ye’ll just let yer own Tim help ye. Sure, ye know, Berty, I’ve no one but meself to care for. Uncle Teddy’s not depindent on me; an’ you’ve all those childer;—so, it’s only fair—”
“Tim,” said Berty, grasping the boy’s arm, and speaking in a frightened whisper, “Tim, come with me. I want to show you something.”