positively forbid Tom to have any more to do with Ed,--a command which
he grumbled a good deal about, and, alas! occasionally disobeyed.

But to continue our story. The following Saturday morning the skies
were blue, the sun shone bright, the gladness of spring was in the
air,--all promised a long, pleasant holiday. The apple stand at the
corner had a prosperous aspect. The umbrella, though shabbier and more
rakish-looking than ever, wore a cheery, hail-fellow-well-met
appearance. Widow Barry had, as she told a neighbor, "spruced up her
old bonnet a bit,"--an evidence of the approach of spring, which the
boys recognized and appreciated. Now she was engaged in polishing up
her apples, and arranging the peanuts as invitingly as possible; a
number of pennies already jingled in the small bag attached to her
apron-string, in which she kept her money.

"Ah, here comes Masther Tom!" she exclaimed, presently. "An' right
glad I am; for he always brings me a good hansel."

"Hello, Missis Barry!" cried he. "How's trade to-day? Too early to
tell yet? Well, see if I can't boom it a little. Give me a dozen
apples, and one--yes, two quarts of nuts."

Pleased and flustered at this stroke of fortune, she busied herself in
getting out two of the largest of her paper bags, and filling the
munificent order. But Tom was not like himself this morning. He had
plenty to say, to be sure; but he talked away with a kind of reckless
gaiety that appeared a trifle forced, and he was eager to be off.

The old woman paused a second, as if suddenly impressed by the
difference in his manner; then, by a shake of the head, she strove to