or three miles, until the basket was filled with packages of sugar, with which we would return stealthily, like burglars after the successful accomplishment of daring and unlawful deeds. When the basket was too heavy for me to carry, uncle Bryan carried it, and would place me in a convenient spot--always at the corner of two streets, so that in case of pursuit we could make a rapid disappearance--with the basket on the ground. While thus stationed, I have trembled at the very shadow of a policeman, and have often wondered that we were not marched off to prison. Uncle Bryan was not always successful. On occasions he would pause suddenly in the middle of a street, and wheel sharply round. 'Can't go into that shop,' he would say; 'was turned out of it the week before last;' or, 'They know me there; swore at me when they served me the last time; mustn't show my face there for another month;' or, with a laugh, 'Come away, Chris, quick! That woman wanted to know what I meant by imposing on a poor widow who was trying to get an honest living.' These remarks, of themselves, would have been sufficient to convince me that we were committing an offence against law and morality. At first I was a passive accomplice in these unlawful operations, but in time I became an active agent. 'Chris, my boy,' said uncle Bryan to me one night, in an insinuating tone; he was out of spirits, having met with a number of continuous failures; 'do you think you could buy a quarter of a pound in that shop?' 'I'll try to, uncle,' I said, with a sinking heart, for I had long anticipated the dreaded moment. 'Go into the shop in an offhand way, as if you were a regular customer. I'll wait at the corner for you.' Go into the shop in an offhand way! Why, if I had been the greatest criminal in the world, I could not have been more impressed with a sense of guilt. I showed it in my face when I stepped tremblingly to the counter, and I was instantly detected by the shopkeeper. 'Do you want anything else besides sugar?' he demanded sternly. 'N-no, sir,' I managed to answer. 'Do you know, you young ruffian, that there's a loss on sugar!' I knew it well enough--too well to convict myself by answering. 'What do you say to two ounces of our best mixed at two-and-eight,' he then inquired, with satirical inquisitiveness, 'or half a pound of our genuine mocha at one-and-four?'