Tom found herself the possessor of seven dollars and fifty cents, including the quarter which she owed to Mrs. Murphy for money advanced. It was not yet eleven o’clock. She decided to call on Mrs. Murphy, pay back the loan, and inform her of her good luck.

Mrs. Murphy was seated at her stand, keeping a sharp lookout for customers, when she espied Tom approaching.

“Have you sold your papers, Tom?” she asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Murphy. Here’s the money I borrowed of you.”

“Keep it longer; you’ll maybe nade it. I aint afraid to trust you.”

“I don’t need it. I have been lucky. See there!” and Tom displayed a roll of bills.

“Where’d ye get all them?” asked the apple-woman, in amazement.

“A gentleman paid me a gold piece for a ‘Herald,’ and wouldn’t take any change.”

“Is it truth you’re tellin’, Tom?”

“Of course it is. Do you think I’d tell you a lie?”

“Tell me all about it, Tom.”

Tom did so, to the intense interest of Mrs. Murphy, who, after ejaculations as to Tom’s luck, added, “I wish he’d buy some apples of me, and trate me in the same way. And what are you goin’ to do wid your money, Tom, dear?”

“I’m going to get a square meal pretty soon, Mrs. Murphy. If you’ll come along, I’ll treat you.”

“Thank you, Tom, all the same, but I can’t lave my business. You’d better put it in the savings-bank, where it’ll be safe. Maybe you might lose it.”

“Have you got any money in the savings-bank?”

“No, Tom, dear. It takes all I earn for the rint, and atin’ for the childers.”

“I want to live with you, Mrs. Murphy, if you’ll take me.”

“Shure and I’d be glad to have you, Tom, if you’ll put up wid my poor room.”

“I’d rather be there than at Mrs. Merton’s,” said Tom.

After some negotiation, Mrs. Murphy agreed to take Tom as a boarder, furnishing her with lodging, breakfast and supper, for a dollar and a half a week. It seemed a small sum, but it would be a welcome addition to the apple-woman’s weekly income, while it would take Tom from the streets, and give her a cheerful and social home.

“I’ll pay you now for a week,” said Tom. “Then I’ll be all right even if I lose the money.”

After some persuasion, Mrs. Murphy was induced to accept the payment in advance.

“Now I’ll go and get some dinner,” said Tom.

Tom directed her steps to the Belmont House Restaurant, on Fulton Street. It has two rooms,—one for ladies, the other for gentlemen; and is well-patronized by a very respectable class, chiefly clerks and business men. It was of a higher grade than the restaurants which those in Tom’s line of business were accustomed to frequent. Her dress, however, prevented any surprise being felt at her entrance. She sat down at a table, and looked over a bill of fare. She observed that roast turkey was marked forty cents. This was rather a large price for one in her circumstances to pay. However, she had been in luck, and felt that she could afford an unusual outlay.

“Roast turkey and a cup of coffee!” ordered Tom, as the waiter approached the table.

“All right, miss,” said that functionary.

Soon the turkey was set before her, with a small dish of cranberry sauce, and a plate of bread and butter. Two potatoes and the cup of coffee made up Tom’s dinner. She surveyed it with satisfaction, and set to with an appetite.

“I should like to live this way every day,” thought Tom; “but I can’t afford it.”

The waiter brought a check, and laid it beside her plate. It was marked 45 cents.

Tom walked up to the desk near the door, and paid her bill in an independent manner, as if she were accustomed to dine there every day. In making the payment she had drawn out her whole stock of money, and still held it in her hand as she stood on the sidewalk outside. She little guessed the risk she ran in doing so, or that the enemy she most dreaded was close at hand. For just at the moment Tom stood with her face towards Broadway, granny turned the corner of Nassau and Fulton Streets, and bore down upon her, her eyes sparkling with joy and anticipated triumph. She was not alone. With her was a man of thirty-five, bold and reckless in expression, but otherwise with the dress and appearance of a gentleman.

“There’s the gal now!” said granny, in excitement.

“Where?” said her companion, sharing her excitement.

“There, in front of that eating-house.”

“The one with her back towards us?”

“Yes. Don’t say a word, and I’ll creep up and get hold of her.”

Tom was about to put back her money in her pocket, when she felt her arm seized in a firm grasp. Turning in startled surprise, she met the triumphant glance of her old granny.

“Let me alone!” said Tom, fiercely, trying to snatch away her arm.

“I’ve got you, have I?” said granny. “I knowed I’d get hold of you at last, you young trollop! Come home with me, right off!”

“I won’t go with you,” said Tom, resolutely. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you. You haven’t got anything to do with me.”

“Haven’t I, I should like to know? Aint I your granny?”

“No, you aint.”

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Walsh, rather taken aback.

“You aint any relation of mine. I don’t know where you got hold of me; but I won’t own such an old drunkard for a granny.”

“Come along!” said granny, fiercely. “You’ll pay for this, miss.”

“Help!” exclaimed Tom, finding that she was likely to be carried away against her will, at the same time struggling violently.

“What’s the matter?” asked a gentleman, who had just come out of the restaurant.

“It’s my grand-child, sir,” said Mrs. Walsh, obsequiously. “She run away from me, and now she don’t want to go back.”

“She hasn’t got anything to do with me,” said Tom. “Help!”

This last exclamation was intended to attract the attention of a policeman who was approaching.

“What’s the trouble?” he demanded, authoritatively.

Mrs. Walsh repeated her story.

“What is the child’s name?” asked the policeman.

“Jane,” answered the old woman, who was at first on the point of saying “Tom.”

“How long has she lived with you?”

“Ever since she was born, till a few weeks ago.”

“What do you say to this?” asked the officer.

“I did live with her; but she beat me, so I left her. She says she is my granny, but she isn’t.”

“Where do you live now?”

“With Mrs. Murphy, in Mulberry Street.”

This intelligence rather astonished granny, who heard it for the first time.

“Is the child related to you?” asked the officer.

“She’s my grandchild, but she’s always been a wild, troublesome child. Many’s the time I have kept awake all night thinkin’ of her bad ways,” said granny, virtuously. “It was only yesterday,” she added, with a sudden thought suggested by the sight of the money which she had seen Tom counting, “that she came to my room, and stole some money. She’s got it in her pocket now.”

“Have you taken any money from your grandmother?” demanded the policeman.

“No, I haven’t,” said Tom, boldly.

“I saw her put it in her pocket,” said granny.

“Show me what you have in your pocket.”

“I’ve got some money,” said Tom, feeling in rather a tight place; “but it was given me this morning by a gentleman at Fulton Ferry.”

“Show it,” said the officer, authoritatively.

Tom was reluctantly compelled to draw out the money she had left,—a little over five dollars. Granny’s eyes sparkled as she saw it.

“It’s the money I lost,” said she. “Give it to me;” and she clutched Tom’s hand.

“Not for Joe!” said Tom, emphatically. “It’s mine, and I’ll keep it.”

“Will you make her give it up?” asked granny, appealing to the policeman. “It’s some of my hard earnings, which that wicked girl took from me.”

“That’s a lie!” retorted Tom. “You never saw the money. There was a gentleman down to Fulton Ferry that give it to me this morning.”

“That’s a likely story,” said granny, scornfully.

“If you don’t believe it you can ask him. He’s got an office on Wall Street, No. —, and his name is Mr. Dunbar. Take me round there, and see if he don’t say so.”

“Don’t believe her,” said granny. “She can lie as fast as she can talk.”

“Ask Mrs. Murphy then. She keeps an apple-stand corner of Nassau and Spruce Streets.”

“You are sure she took this money from you?” inquired the policeman.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Walsh. “I put it in my drawer yesterday forenoon, and when I come to look for it it was gone. Mrs. Molloy, that lives on the next floor, told me she saw Tom, I mean Jane, come in about three o’clock, when I was out to work. It was then that she took it.”

If granny had been dressed in her old fashion, she would have inspired less confidence; but it must be remembered that, through money advanced by the lawyer, she was now, in outward appearance, a very respectable old woman; and appearances go a considerable way. The officer was, therefore, disposed to believe her. If he had any doubt on the subject it was settled by the interference of Mr. Lindsay, who had hitherto kept aloof, but who now advanced, saying, “I know this woman, Mr. Officer, and I can assure you that her story is correct. The child has been wild and rebellious, and stolen money. But her grandmother does not wish to have her arrested, as she might rightfully do. She prefers to take her back, and do what she can to redeem her.”

Mr. Lindsay was in outward appearance a gentleman. His manner was quiet, and calculated to inspire confidence.

“That is sufficient,” said the officer, respectfully. “Hark you,” he added, addressing Tom, “you had better go away quietly with your grandmother, or I shall advise her to give you in charge for theft.”

Granny had conquered. Tom saw that further immediate resistance would be unavailing; without a word, therefore, she allowed herself to be led away, mentally resolving, however, that her stay with granny would be brief.