hat
such a young and beautiful child could be guilty of such an offense?"

"Perhaps not," answered his wife. "She may be as innocent in the matter
as Ellen or myself."

"I hope so," said the baker; "it would be a pity that so young a child
should be given to wickedness. However, I shall find out before long."

"How?"

"She will undoubtedly come again sometime."

The baker watched daily for the coming of Ida. He waited some days in
vain. It was not Peg's policy to send the child too often to the same
place, as that would increase the chances of detection.

One day, however, Ida entered the shop as before.

"Good-morning," said the baker; "what will you have to-day?"

"You may give me a sheet of gingerbread, sir."

The baker placed it in her hand.

"How much will it be?"

"Twelve cents."

Ida offered him another new bill.

As if to make change, he stepped from behind the counter and placed
himself between Ida and the door.

"What is your name, my child?" he asked.

"Ida, sir."

"Ida? But what is your other name?"

Ida hesitated a moment, because Peg had forbidden her to use the name of
Harding, and had told her, if ever the inquiry were made, she must
answer Hardwick.

She answered reluctantly: "Ida Hardwick."

The baker observed her hesitation, and this increased his suspicion.

"Hardwick!" he repeated, musingly, endeavoring to draw from the child as
much information as possible before allowing her to perceive that he
suspected her. "And where do you live?"

Ida was a child of spirit, and did not understand why she should be
questioned so closely.

She said, with some impatience: "I am in a hurry, sir, and would like to
have the change as soon as you can."

"I have no doubt of it," said the baker, his manner suddenly changing,
"but you cannot go just yet."

"Why not?" asked Ida.

"Because you have been trying to deceive me."

"I trying to deceive you!" exclaimed Ida.

"Really," thought Mr. Harding, "she does it well; but no doubt she is
trained to it. It is perfectly shocking, such artful depravity in a
child."

"Don't you remember buying something here a week ago?" he asked, in as
stern a tone as his good nature would allow him to employ.

"Yes," answered Ida, promptly; "I bought two rolls, at three cents
apiece."

"And what did you offer me in payment?"

"I handed you a dollar bill."

"Like this?" asked the baker, holding up the one she had just offered
him.

"Yes, sir."