"Is it?" said Beth, in pleased surprise. She had never stolen anything before, and it was a new sensation.
"But don't you know stealing is very wicked?" Mildred asked impressively.
Beth looked disconcerted: "I never thought of that. I'll put it back."
"How can you? You'll never be there again," Mildred rejoined. "You've done it now. You've committed a sin."
Beth slipped the bright thing into her pocket. "I'll repent," she said, and seemed satisfied.
It was a lovely day, and the passage from Kingstown to Holyhead was so smooth that everybody lounged about the deck, and no one was ill. Beth was very much interested, first in the receding shore, then in the people about her. There was one group in particular, evidently of affluent people, dressed in a way that made her feel ashamed of her own clothes for the first time in her life. But what particularly attracted her attention were some bunches of green and purple grapes which the papa of the party took out of a basket and began to divide. Beth had never seen grapes before except in pictures, and thought they looked lovely. The old gentleman gave the grapes to his family, but in handing them, one little bunch fell on the deck. He picked it up, looked at it, blew some dust off it; then decided that it was not good enough for his own children, and handed it to Bernadine, who was gazing greedily.
Beth dashed forward, snatched it out of her hand, and threw it into the sea.
"We are not beggars!" she cried.
"Well done, little one," a gentleman who was sitting near exclaimed. "Won't pick up the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table, eh? That's a very proper spirit. And who may you be?"
"My father was a gentleman," Beth answered hotly.