remember quite well how, as I stood holding out the apple, my arm would
shake with the violence of my sobs.

'I'm not fond of bitten apples,' he said. 'You had better eat it up
now.'

This brought me to myself. If he had shown me sympathy, I should have
gone on crying.

'I would rather not. Please box my ears.'

'I don't want to box your ears. You're welcome to the apple. Only don't
take what's not your own another time.' 'But, please, sir, I'm so
miserable!'

'Home with you! and eat your apple as you go,' was his unconsoling
response.

'I can't eat it; I'm so ashamed of myself.'

'When people do wrong, I suppose they must be ashamed of themselves.
That's all right, isn't it?'

'Why won't you box my ears, then?' I persisted.

[Illustration: "HERE IS A YOUNG GENTLEMAN, MRS. WILSON, WHO SEEMS TO
HAVE LOST HIS WAY."]

It was my sole but unavailing prayer. He turned away towards the house.
My trouble rose to agony. I made some wild motion of despair, and threw