Only a Cent

by Mary Kyle Dallas

“It was only a cent, you say?”

“Yes, ‘m,” said the old woman, meekly. “Only a cent. “Tisnt the value of the money. I’d not have come for that; but when little Master Harry took it out of my till, it was a theft all the same as if it had been a dollar.”

“Absurd,” said Mrs. Rose. “The boy is only six years old. He’s a mere baby. There’s another cent. Of course I’m willing to give it to you.”

“I don’t want the cent,” said the old woman, half crying. “What I want is to have him properly punished.”

“You revengeful wretch!” said Mrs. Rose.

“Taint revenge,” said the woman. “It’s love for the child. When my Ann was nursery-maid here I seen a heap of him, and I liked him so much, a pretty dear. Please do, ma’am, punish him and learn him not to steal. It’s a mother’s duty, ma’am. ‘Tisnt only poor boys that grow up bad.”

“This is unbearable,” cried Mrs. Rose. “Punish that little fellow for picking up a cent. How did he know to whom it belonged. And you—a person like you—to talk to me of duty. It is too preposterous.”

“O do hear me, ma’am,” said the old woman. “‘Twasn’t picking up a cent. I was in my back room and saw through the curtain. He came in tiptoe, watching and peeping, and he slipped around the counter and took the penny from the drawer. Then he knocks, and says he, when I comes:  ‘I want a cent’s worth of lemon drops.’ And I took it away and came to tell you; not for the value— “

“Take your cent and go,” said Mrs. Rose. “After the presents I have sent you, and kind as I was to Ann—gave her her wedding dress and a set of china when she married—to go on so about a paltry penny. Bridget, open the door. I suppose that Mrs. Jones don’t see it, I’ve requested her to go so often,  And after this, Bridget, when I send you for trimmings, there is the… Read More