g at her.

"You want to take my book from me?"

"Not I, I care nothing about it; keep it, if you like, only tell me
what's the matter?"

"Why, all about that book."

"The book?"

"Yes, they wanted to take it from me."

"Who did?"

"Why, some wicked boys. I'll tell you all about it. Eight or ten days
ago, I sat behind my stall, reading my book; all of a sudden I felt it
snatched from my hand; up I started, and see three rascals of boys
grinning at me; one of them held the book in his hand. 'What book is
this?' said he, grinning at it. 'What do you want with my book?' said I,
clutching at it over my stall, 'give me my book.' 'What do you want a
book for?' said he, holding it back; 'I have a good mind to fling it into
the Thames.' 'Give me my book,' I shrieked; and, snatching at it, I fell
over my stall, and all my fruit was scattered about. Off ran the
boys--off ran the rascal with my book. Oh dear, I thought I should have
died; up I got, however, and ran after them as well as I could. I
thought of my fruit; but I thought more of my book. I left my fruit and
ran after my book. 'My book! my book!' I shrieked, 'murder! theft!
robbery!' I was near being crushed under the wheels of a cart; but I
didn't care--I followed the rascals. 'Stop them! stop them!' I ran
nearly as fast as they--they couldn't run very fast on account of the
crowd. At last some one stopped the rascal, whereupon he turned round,
and flinging the book at me, it fell into the mud; well, I picked it up
and kissed it, all muddy as it was. 'Has he robbed you?' said the man.
'Robbed me, indeed; why, he had got my book.' 'Oh, your book,' said the
man, and laughed, and let the rascal go. Ah, he might laugh, but--"

"Well, go on."

"My heart beats so. Well, I went back to my booth and picked up my stall
and my fruits, what I could find of them. I couldn't keep my stall for
two days, I got such a fright, and when I got round I couldn't bide the
booth where the thing had happened, so I came over to the other side. Oh,
the rascals, if I could but see them hanged."

"For what."

"Why for stealing my book."

"I thought you didn't dislike stealing, that you were ready to buy
things--there was your son, you know--"

"Yes, to be sure."

"He took things."

"To be sure he did."

"But you don't like a thing of yours to be taken."

"No, that's quite a different thing; what's stealing handkerchiefs, and
that kind of thing, to do wit