He could only exclaim, "O my apricots, my apricots, they are all gone! And my beautiful tree—" then covering his face with his hands, he burst into tears.
"What is the matter, my dear?" inquired his grandmother.
Ned replied by taking her by the hand, and leading her into the garden.
"Who can have done this?" he exclaimed, sobbing. "If they had only stolen the apricots, I could have borne it better! But to see my dear tree spoiled—It must die—it must be quite killed—only look how it is cut!"
"I am very sorry for you, my poor boy," said his grandmother, kindly. "It is a most vexatious thing."
"Oh!" cried Ned, "if I did but know who it was that had done it—"
"I would be revenged on them, some how or other," he was going to have added; but the texts which he had learned a few days before concerning the forgiveness of injuries, and which he had frequently repeated to himself since, came into his mind, and he stopped short.
On looking round the garden, to see if they could discover any traces of the thief, Ned and his grandmother saw the prints of a boy's shoe, rather bigger than Ned's, in several of the beds, and hanging on the quick-hedge were some tattered fragments of a red cotton handkerchief checked with white. "I know this handkerchief," said Ned; "it is Tom Andrews's; I have often seen him with it tied round his neck. It must be he who stole my apricots."
"You cannot be sure that it is Tom who stole your apricots," rejoined his grandmother. "Many other people besides him have red handkerchiefs."
"But I am sure it can be no one but Tom; for only yesterday, when I told him about my apricots, and the money I expected to get for them, he said he wished he knew how to get some, that he might have money too. Oh! if I could but get hold of him—"