jackets with an air of meek
resignation. She half turned to go away after doing so, but a
thought of her two remaining children caused her to hesitate.

"Have'n't you some more trowsers to give out?" she asked, turning
again toward Michael.

The sound of her voice reached the ear of the young female who had
just entered, causing her to start, and look for an instant toward
the speaker. But she slowly resumed her former position with a sigh,
after satisfying herself by a single glance at the woman, whose
voice had fallen upon her ear with a strange familiarity.

"We haven't any more ready, ma'am, just now."

"What have you to give out? Any thing?"

"Yes. Here are some unbleached cotton shirts, at seven cents. You
can have some of them, if you choose."

"I will take half a dozen," said Mrs. Gaston in a desponding tone.
"Any thing is better than nothing."

"Well, Miss Lizzy Glenn," said Michael, with repulsive familiarity,
as Mrs. Gaston turned from the counter and left the store, "what can
I do for you this morning?"

The young seamstress made no reply, but laid her bundle upon the
counter and unrolled it. It contained three fine shirts, with linen
bosoms and collars, very neatly made.

"Very well done, Lizzy," said Michael, approvingly, as he inspected
the two rows of stitching on the bosoms and other parts of the
garments that required to be sewed neatly.

"Have you any more ready?" she asked, shrinking back as she spoke,
with a feeling of disgust, from the bold, familiar attendant.

"Have you any more fine shirts for Lizzy Glenn?" called Michael,
back to Berlaps, in a loud voice.

"I don't know. How has she made them?"

"First rate."

"Then let her have some more, and pay her for those just brought
in."

"That's your sorts!" responded Michael, as he took seventy-five
cents from the drawer and threw the money upon the counter. "Good
work, good pay, and prompt at that. Will you take three more?"

"I will," was the somewhat haughty and dignified reply, intended to
repulse the low-bred fellow's offensive familiarity.

"Highty-tighty!" broke in Michael, in an undertone, meant only for
the maiden's ear. "Tip-top airs don't pass for much in these 'ere
parts. Do you know that, Miss Lizzy Glenn, or whatever your name may
be? We're all on the same level here. Girls that make slop shirts
and trowsers haven't much cause to stand on their dignity. Ha! ha!"

The seamstress turned away quickly, and walked bac