felt somewhat encouraged by a glimpse of his face, which was rubicund
and, I thought, good-natured; but, approaching him rather from behind,
I could not see it well. When I addressed him he started,

'Please, sir,' I said, 'is this your house?'

'Yes, my man; it is my house,' he answered, looking down on me with
bent neck, his hands still in his pockets.

'Please, sir,' I said, but here my voice began to tremble, and he grew
dim and large through the veil of my gathering tears. I hesitated.

'Well, what do you want?' he asked, in a tone half jocular, half kind.

I made a great effort and recovered my self-possession.

'Please, sir,' I repeated, 'I want you to box my ears.'

'Well, you are a funny fellow! What should I box your ears for, pray?'

'Because I've been very wicked,' I answered; and, putting my hand into
my pocket, I extracted the bitten apple, and held it up to him.

'Ho! ho!' he said, beginning to guess what I must mean, but hardly the
less bewildered for that; 'is that one of my apples?'

'Yes, sir. It fell down from a branch that hung over the wall. I took
it up, and--and--I took a bite of it, and--and--I'm so sorry!'

Here I burst into a fit of crying which I choked as much as I could. I