"
"But, Aunt Church," said Tom, "if you were to see poor mother you
wouldn't blame her. She looks, oh, so thin and so tired! She's terribly
unhappy, and she will be certain sure to pay you next week. It was silly
of her, I will own, not to think of the police sooner; but she's gone to
them to-day, ordered by me to do that same."
"That was thoughtful enough of you, Tom, and I don't object to giving
you a morsel of the stalest cake. I always keep three cakes in three tin
boxes, and you can have a morsel of the stalest; it is more than two
months old, but you won't mind that."
"Not me," said Tom, "I like stale cakes best," he added, determined to
show his aunt that he was ready to be pleased with everything. He was a
very knowing boy, and spoke up so well, and was so evidently sorry
himself, and so positive that as soon as ever the police were told they
would simply lay their hands on the thief and the thief would disgorge
his spoils, that Aunt Church was fain to believe him.
In the end she and he made a compact.
"I tell you what it is," he said. "You haven't been to see mother for a
long time, and if you ain't got any money to buy a dinner for yourself,
it is but fair you should have a slice off our Sunday joint."
"Sunday joint, indeed!" snapped Mrs. Church.
"You couldn't expect us not to have a bit of meat on Sunday," said Tom.
"Why, we'd get so weak that mother couldn't earn the money she sends you
every month.
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