ma'am," he answered, with difficulty. And then, as if catching at
something that might give him a little standing, he added, quickly--so
quickly that he stammered again:

"B-b-b-but I knowed I was twin to a angel. I know dat. An' I knows ef my
angel twin seen me steal dem aigs he'll be mightly ap' to tell Gord to
strike me down daid."

Of course he had to explain then about the "angel twin," and the old
lady talked to him for a long time. And then together they knelt down.
When at last they came out of the library she held the boy's hand and
led him to her husband.

"Are you willing to try him again, William?" she asked. "He has promised
to do better."

Old Mr. Cary cleared his throat and laid down his paper.

"Don't deserve it," he began; "dirty little thief." And then he turned
to the boy: "What have you got on, sir?"

His voice was really quite terrible.

"N-n-n-nothin'; only but des my b-b-b-briches an' jacket, an'--an'--an'
skin," Crow replied, between gasps.

"How many pockets?"

"Two," said Crow.

"Turn 'em out!"

Crow drew out his little rust-stained pockets, dropping a few old nails
and bits of twine upon the floor as he did so.

"Um--h'm! Well, now, I'll tell you. _You're a dirty little thief_, as I
said before. And I'm going to treat you as one. If you wear those
pockets hanging out, or rip 'em out, and come in here before you leave
every day dressed just as you are--pants and jacket and skin--and empty
out your basket for us before you go, until I'm satisfied you'll do
better, you can come."

The old lady looked at her husband as if she thought him pretty hard on
a very small boy. But she said nothing.

Crow glanced appealingly at her before answering. And then he said,
seizing his pocket:

"Is you got air pair o' scissors, lady?"

Mrs. Cary wished her husband would relent even while she brought the
scissors, but he only cried:

"Out with 'em!"

"Suppose you cut them out yourself, Solomon," she interposed, kindly,
handing him the scissors. "You'll have all this work to do yourself. We
can't make you good."

When, after several awkward efforts, Crow finally put the coarse little
pockets in her hands, there were tears in her eyes, and she tried to
hide them as she leaned over and gathered up his treasures--three nails,
a string, a broken top, and a half-eaten chunk of cold corn-bread. As
she handed them to him she said: "And I'll lay the pockets away for you,
Solomon, and when we se