Norris was not as well posted
as the apple-vender, one or two occurrences had caused her to
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.
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