That night Mrs. Price and her younger son had a conversation.  
"I do not want to send her away, Jamie," she said when they had discoursed with much interest for some time. "She shall and must stay here for the present; but it cannot go on always, for what would the poor little brother do? If Cinderella is the bread-winner, and Cinderella can earn no bread, the poor little fellow will starve."
 
James Price, alias Pickles, was looking very sober, even thoughtful.
 
"It tuk a deal o' time to save hup, and 'tis rare and comforting to reflect on having it—but there's my half-crown," he said.
 
"Bless you, my laddie! it will help a trifle, but half-a-crown won't feed the smallest eater for long."
 
"Then, mother, you know I allow no one ter dictate ter me but you. Wot's to be done? Ere we to betray the hinnercent?"
 
"No, my lad—no. I confess I am sorely puzzled."
 
"But I ain't," said Pickles, who had knowingly brought his mother round to make this confession. "I ain't puzzled the least bit in life, fur I know who is the real thief."
 
"Now, Jamie, what do you mean?"
 
"Mother, it were the man as went with Cinderella inter the shop; it wor he wot stole the locket and then put it inter her pocket. I don't know how he did it, nor why he did it, but I do know that did do it."
&nbs............