"Then, Packett, give me your hand. I will come down."

The dainty victress placed her little foot firmly on the uppermost rung;
and while Packett held the top, and the merchant the bottom, of the
ladder, the dream of muslin and ribbons descended to the floor.

Old Varnhagen gave a sigh of relief.

"You'll nefer do that again, Rachel?"

"I hope I shall never need to."

"You shouldn't upset your poor old father like that, Rachel."

"You shouldn't drive me to use such means to make you do your duty."

"My duty!"

"Yes, to give me that watch."

"Ah, the watch. I forgot it."

"I shall go now, and get it."

"Yes, my child, get it."

"I'll say you will pay at the end of the month."

"Yes, I will pay--perhaps at the end of the month, perhaps it will go
towards a contra account for watches I shall supply to Tresco. We shall
see."

"Good-bye, father."

"Good-bye, Rachel; but won't you gif your old father a kiss pefore you
go?"

The vision of muslin and ribbons laid her parasol upon an upturned
barrel, and came towards the portly Jew. Her soft dress was crumpled by
his fat hand, and her pretty head was nestled on his shoulder.

"Ah! my 'tear Rachel. Ah! my peautiful. You loaf your old father. My
liddle taughter, I gif you everything; and you loaf me very moch, eh?"

"Of course, I do. And won't it look well with a brand-new gold chain to
match?"

"Next time my child wants something, she won't climb on the wool-bales
and nearly kill herself?"

"Of course not. I shall wear it this afternoon when I go out calling."

"Now kiss me, and run away while I make some more money for my liddle
Rachel."

The saintly face raised itself, and looked with a smile into the face of
the old Jew; and then the bright red lips fixed themselves upon his
wrinkled cheek.

"You are a good girl; you are my own child; you shall have everything
you ask; you shall have all I've got to give."

"Good-bye, father. Thanks awfully much."

"Good-bye, Rachel."

The girl turned; the little heels tapped regularly on the floor; the
pigeon-like walk was resumed; and Rachel Varnhagen, watched by the
loving eyes of her father, passed into the street.

The gold-buying clerk at the Kangaroo Bank was an immaculately dressed
young man with a taste for jewelry. In his tie he wore a pearl, in a
gold setting shaped like a diminutive human hand; his watch-chain was
of gold, wrought in a wonderful and extravagant design. As he stepped
through th