"Yes, I guess so, miss."
What he did was simply to shortly order Tony to do just what Miss Barstow wanted, if he knew what was good for him; and Tony obeyed without question, as did every one else in that part of the city who received orders from Mr. Kean.
That was the way Gabriella remained in the school until she was past twelve years old, and until the time her mother, who helped Tony at the fruit-stand, was taken sick. Then Gabriella took her mother's place, but she too became ill, and Tony had to close his fruit-stand part of each twenty-four hours, which caused that very penurious Italian great misery of mind, for his was what is known as an "all-night" stand, and he bitterly lamented his loss of trade during the hours of closing. Gabriella, under the careful nursing of Miss Barstow, soon became well and strong again; but the mother did not, and that was the reason it became necessary for the girl to take her place at the stand part of the time, dividing with her mother the hours when Tony went home to eat and sleep.
Miss Barstow knew that if she interfered further to keep Gabriella off the street and at school she might, with Mr. Kean's aid, succeed in doing so; but her knowledge of tenement-house life made her realize that such action would make the girl's home life unhappy. So she let her favorite scholar go without protest, intending, however, to keep as close a watch over her as she could, and to regain her for her school later, if she found that the girl's mother became strong enough not to need Gabriella's help.
Gabriella's "watches"—that is, the time she was on duty at the fruit-stand—were always in the day-time, and Miss Barstow would stop there frequently to speak to her on her way to the Mission House. She did this to keep track of the girl, and to leave her a book now and then. These were the only happy moments in the poor girl's life. She had learned to love Miss Barstow, and to care very much for books and other things Miss Barstow had interested her in, which now seemed far removed from her life, except when they were recalled by these visits from her teacher.
Every day now she went to the fruit-stand on the Bowery in the morning to relieve her father. There it was her duty to keep the stacks and pyramids of fruit in order, to dust them, to replace with fresh fruit from the boxes underneath the stand the pieces which she sold, and to keep a sharp look-out against the nimble hands of thievish youngsters. Every piece of fruit was carefully counted by Tony before he went off the watch, and when he returned Gabriella had to account for every sale and every missing piece.
One day Gabriella stood by the side of the stand, thinking how much happier her life had been when she went each day to the Mission School. She was wondering, at the same time, where she could have ever before seen the smartly dressed boy who stood in the doorway of the theatre office smiling at her. Somehow he was associated in her mind with Miss Barstow, yet where and when, if ever, she had seen him before was as indistinct in her mind as the memory of a dream. For several days she had seen him standing there, and from the first she had the impression that she had seen him somewhere else. She could not place him; he was much better and more stylishly dressed than any of the boys she had ever seen about her home or the school. He always had a friendly nod and smile for her, and she nodded and smiled in return; and although they had never spoken, she had never given up trying to think where, if anywhere, she had seen him besides there in front of the theatre.
As he stood there this day, looking somehow as if he owned the Bowery, a rough young fellow loafed up to the stand and asked, in an impudent manner,
"Say, sis, how much are dese bananas?"
"A cent each," answered Gabriella.