"Old Moll," he said, mentioning the woman who had taken care of him when Helen was in prison. She took the bag of cherries and flung it violently far out of his reach. Still she never scolded him, or told him he had done wrong. That night, as he lay in her arms, she kissed him, but not so fervently as of old. Her love, if not lessened, was lowered--he was no longer her guardian angel. From that night Robin was a thief, and Helen an all too ready and anxious trainer. Not one vestige of right came near the boy, not one scrap of moral training. It seemed to him as little wrong to prig handkerchiefs, to steal from fruit-stalls, as it was to eat his breakfast. Still, as long as Helen was with him he was happy enough: his conscience had never been touched, and therefore did not awake; and though he had hard fare, he had never hard usage. Helen, passionate, violent, unprincipled, had never given him an angry word in her life. CHAPTER III. _CRIME SHOWED HIM ONLY HER SMILING FACE._ This state of things continued until Robin was eight years old. During all these years he and Helen had clung firmly to each other. He called her, and believed her to be, his mother, and she gave him far more love than many mothers bestow upon their children. They had finally established themselves in the thieves' quarters, where alone they could feel secure from the watchful eyes of the police, and here they both lived by stealing. But though living with the thieves, and sharing in all things their spoils and their dangers, Helen would make no friends with the men and women she associated with. She had not a vestige of affection to bestow upon any one but Robin, and she and the child lived a life apart. When times were prosperous, she and he shared a small attic together; when times were hard, and her opportunities for purloining scarce, they wandered the streets, sheltering at night under arches, or wherever they could best evade the watchful eye of justice. During these years Robin was happy. He lived in crime; but crime, under Helen's wing, showed him only her smiling face. He was so bright, so precocious, so full of courage and spirit, that before he was eight years old he was a cleverer thief than Helen herself. The old professional thieves admired him, and offered Helen large sums of money to secure him altogether to themselves; but Helen would part with Robin to no one, and while with her, he was, comparatively speaking, safe.