" Very
likely his conscience smote him, as he thought of her and her
blessed teachings in the far-off home of his childhood.
"I will give you two cents," said the clerk.
"I can't take that; it would hardly pay for the molasses, to say
nothing of firewood and labor."
"Call it three cents, then."
"No, sir; the wholesale price is five cents for six sticks."
"But I am poor."
"You wouldn't be poor if you saved up your money, and kept the
Sabbath. Your mother----"
"There, there! that's enough. I will take a dozen sticks!"
exclaimed the young man, impatiently interrupting her.
"A dozen?"
"Yes, a dozen, and there are twelve cents."
"But I only ask ten."
"No matter, give me the candy, and take the money," he replied,
fearful, it may be, that she would again allude to his mother.
Katy counted out the sticks, wrapped them up in a paper, and put
the money in her pocket. If she had stopped at the door to study
the young man's face, she might have detected a shadow of
uneasiness and anxiety upon it. He was a very good-hearted, but
rather dissolute, young man, and the allusions she had made to
his mother burned like fire in his heart, for he had neglected
her counsels, and wandered from the straight road in which she
had taught him to walk. If she could have followed him home, and
into the solitude of his chamber, she could have seen him open
his desk, and write a long letter to his distant mother--a duty
he had too long neglected.
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