An expression of concern passed over Sabrey's countenance, as she heard these words, and she gave an involuntary glance to the object thus pointed out, who, as she thought from his appearance, had also heard the order himself, or at least guessed its import. But instead of making off, as she expected, he spurred up his pony, and, coming directly up to the officer, asked him, with an air of confiding simplicity, to buy some of his apples, which he said were “eny most ripe, and grand for pies.” “Who are you, fellow?” said the officer, without heeding the other's request. “Who I be? I am Jo Wilkins. But aint you going to buy some of the apples?” persisted the former. “Blast your apples!” impatiently replied the officer; “that is not what I want of you. Where do you live?” “Up in the edge of Arlington, when I'm tu hum--next house to uncle Jake's great burnt piece there, you know,” answered the other; “but these ap----” “Whom are you for? King or Congress?” interrupted the officer. “Who be Congus? I don't know him,” said the former, with a doubtful stare. “Well, then, whom do you fight for?” resumed the somewhat mollified officer. “Don't fight for nobody tu our house,--cause dad's a Quaker--but then if you'd buy--” “Yes, yes; but you must tell me honestly, what you came here for to-day, and who sent you, my lad?” “Why, dad sent me to sell the apples, 'cause he wants the money to buy some rye with. But I've been all round, and aint sell'd half, they kept bothering me so. And now its time to go hum, and nobody won't buy 'em!” said the speaker, with a doleful tone, and evident signs of snivelling. “Well, well, my honest lad,” responded the commiserating and now satisfied officer; don't mind it--nobody wants to harm you. There is half a crown to pay you for my part of the bothering. “Why, you going to buy 'em all?” eagerly asked the other, as, with a grin of delight, he clutched the precious metal. “No, no,” said the former, kindly. “I don't wish for any of your apples--they are too green, though they may do for cooking. You would be most likely to sell them in some of these houses.” “Well, now, I vown! I never thought of that! jest's likely's not I mought, you!” exclaimed the fellow, brightening up. “Good mind to go right straight into this ere house and try it--will, by golly!” he added, leaping nimbly from his pony, swinging his panniers on his arm, and hurrying off round for the back door. “Don't molest the poor simpleton any more, but disperse to your quarters,” said the officer, now waving his ratan to the scattering crowd, and resuming his walk up the street. Waiting no longer than to hear this order, and see that it was about to be obeyed by the crowd, Sabrey hurried down to the kitchen, where she encountered the object of her solicitude standing within the door, holding up the half crown between the fingers of one hand, and snapping those of the other, with a look that needed no interpreting.