A lady, stepping into a cab, dropped from her arm a silver bracelet. She never missed it, and Robin, under the pretence of shutting the cab door for her, had it quickly in his pocket. As he secured this valuable prize, he looked into the lady's face and recognised the person whose little girl's purse he had returned more than a year ago. Well did he remember how, deaf to her child's pleadings, she had refused to give him, a ragged starving boy, even a few pence. It added to his pleasure to reflect that it was _her_ bracelet he had stolen. Never had so rich a prize fallen in his way; he darted down an alley to examine it at his leisure; he did not half know its value, but he was quite clever enough to guess that it would, when sold, bring him in a sum of money which would keep him above want for several days. Pocket handkerchiefs and such things he generally disposed of at the pawn-shops, but the silver bracelet he would take to a certain old Jew, to whom once or twice before he had brought a small prize. The Jew in question lived in a place called Frying-pan Alley. Entering the shop, Robin pulled out the bracelet and handed it across the counter. The Jew, a villanous old fellow, spectacles on nose, took up the bracelet, turned it round, threw it contemptuously on the counter. "Tinsel--tinsel," he said, "vorth ver litel. How much ashk for this von vorthless litel bracelet, boy?" Robin having made up his mind to demand five shillings, gasped forth that tremendous sum in a shaky voice. The Jew took up the bracelet again, fingered it lightly, then, apparently in a fit of abstraction, dropped it into a box by the side of the counter. "Poor, bad, litel boy, I give you no five shilling; I not give you von shingle shikshpensh. You shtole this litel vorthless bracelet I return it to the polish, and you, I take you too." And stretching out his long lean hand, he clutched at Robin with a vice he could not shake off. "No, no, no," screamed the boy in terror. "Give me the bracelet--let me go, let me go!" "No, I'll not give you up the tinsel bracelet, it is vorth nothing; but you shtole it, you can't deny. I will return it to the polish, who may find somebody who loosh the poor tinsel thing. Get you gone, litel bad thief boy, get you gone!" And with a violent whirl, which nearly sent Robin on his face and hands, he was turned from the shop. Still terrified, for the Jew's manner had been more violent even than his words, he ran, until, finding himself in other quarters, he sat down on a doorstep to rest. Attracted by his ceaseless cough, a respectably-dressed young woman who was passing by, turned round to look at him. "Poor little boy! how very ill you look," she said kindly: "here," taking out her purse, "is a penny for you; I wish it was more." She dropped the coin into Robin's lap and hurried on. The young woman was his own sister Molly, who, steady and industrious, had managed to prosper in life. CHAPTER III.