ding. She was tall and
slender, with light brown hair, clear soft complexion, and eyes of a
mild hazel. But her cheeks were sunken, though slightly flushed, and
her eyes lay far back in their sockets. Her forehead was high and
very white. The tones of her voice, which was low, were soft and
musical, and her words were spoken, few though they were, with a
taste and appropriateness that showed her to be one who had moved in
a circle of refinement and intelligence. As to her garments, they
were old, and far too thin for the season. A light, faded shawl, of
costly material, was drawn closely around her shoulders, but had not
the power to keep from her attenuated frame the chill air, or to
turn off the fine penetrating rain that came with the wind,
searchingly from-the bleak north-east. Her dress, of summer calico,
much worn, clung closely to her body. Above all was a close bonnet,
and a thick vail, which she drew around her face as she stepped into
the street and glided hurriedly away.

"She's a touch above the vulgar, Michael," broke in Berlaps, the
owner of the shop, coming forward as he spoke.

"Yes, indeed! That craft has been taut rigged in her time."

"Who can she be, Michael? None of your common ones, of course?"

"Oh no, of course not; she's 'seen better days,' as the slang phrase
is."

"No doubt of that. What name did she give."

"Lizzy Glenn. But that may or may not be correct. People likely her
are sometimes apt to forget even their own names."

"Where does she live?"

"In the lower part of the town somewhere. I have it in the book
here."

"You think she'll bring them shirts back?"

"Oh, yes. Folks that have come down in the world as she has, rarely
play grab-game after that fashion."

"She seemed all struck aback at the price."

"I suppose so. Ha! ha!"

"But she's the right kind," resumed Berlaps. "I only wish we had a
dozen like her."

"I wish we had. Her work will never rip."

Further conversation was prevented by the entrance of a customer.
Before he had been fully served, a middle-aged woman came in with a
large bundle, and went back to Berlaps's desk, where he stood
engaged over his account-books.

"Good-day, Mrs. Gaston," said he, looking up, while not a feature
relaxed on his cold, rigid countenance.

"I've brought you in six pairs of pants," said the woman, untying
the bundle she had laid upon the counter.

"You had seven pair, ma'am."

"I know that, Mr. Berlaps. But only six a