woman an injury. With
what a touching simplicity it is 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 jackasses. 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 redstreak, so
tempting and so lovely that Giles' 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 work. They therefore determined to wait
till the next Sunday morning, when they knew she would not fail to be
at church. Sunday came; it was a lone house, as I said before, and
most of the parish were safe at church. In a trice the tree was
cleared, the bags were filled, the asses were whipped, the thieves
were off, the coast was clear, and all was safe and quiet by the time
the sermon was over.

Unluckily, however, it happened, that this tree was so beautiful, and
the fruit so fine, that the people, as they used to pass to and from
church, were very apt to stop and admire widow Brown's redstreaks; and
some of the farmers rather envied her, that in that scarce season,
when they hardly expected to make a pie out of a large orchard, she
was likely to make a cask of cider from a single tree. I am afraid,
indeed, if I must speak out, she herself rather set her heart too much
upon this fruit, and had felt as much pride in her tree as gratitude
to