he widow was abroad on a little business, Giles and his boys made a
clear riddance of the onion bed; and when they had pulled up every
single onion, they then turned a couple of pigs into the garden,
who, allured by the smell, tore up the bed in such a manner, that
the widow, when she came home, had not the least doubt but the pigs
had been the thieves. To confirm this opinion, they took care to
leave the latch half open at one end of the garden, and to break
down a slight fence at the other end.

I wonder how any body can find in his heart not to pity and respect
poor old widows. There is something so forlorn and helpless in their
condition, that methinks it is a call on every body, men, women, and
children, to do them all the kind services that fall in their way.
Surely their having no one to take their part, is an additional
reason for kind-hearted people not to hurt and oppress them. But it
was this very reason which led Giles to do this woman an injury.
With what a touching simplicity is it recorded in Scripture, of the
youth whom our blessed Saviour raised from the dead, that he was the
only son of his mother, _and she was a widow_!

It happened unluckily for poor Widow Brown that her cottage stood
quite alone. On several mornings together (for roguery gets up much
earlier than industry) Giles and his boys stole regularly into her
orchard, followed by their jack-asses. She was so deaf that she
could not hear the asses if they had brayed ever so loud, and to
this Giles trusted; for he was very cautious in his rogueries,
since he could not otherwise have contrived so long to keep out of
prison; for, though he was almost always suspected, he had seldom
been taken up, and never convicted. The boys used to fill their
bags, load their asses, and then march off; and if, in their way to
the town where the apples were to be sold, they chanced to pass by
one of their neighbors who might be likely to suspect them, they
then all at once began to scream out, "Buy my coal! Buy my sand!"

Besides the trees in her orchard, poor Widow Brown had in her small
garden one apple-tree particularly fine; it was a red streak, so
tempting and so lovely, that Giles's family had watched it with
longing eyes, till at last they resolved on a plan for carrying off
all this fine fruit in their bags. But it was a nice point to
manage. The tree stood directly under her chamber window, so that
there was some danger that she might spy them at the