t, Christopher took the
opportunity of speaking to Esther the very next time he was driving her
in from school. Esther immediately pricked up her ears, and demanded to
know where the house was situated. Christopher told her. It was a
street she was not acquainted with.

'Do you know how to find the place, Christopher?'

'Oh, yes, Miss Esther; I can find the place, to be sure; but I'm afraid
my little woman has made a mistake.'

'What is the rent?'

Christopher named the rent. It was less than what they were paying for
the house they at present occupied; and Esther at once ordered
Christopher to turn about and drive her to the spot.

It was certainly not a fashionable quarter, not even near Broadway or
State Street; nevertheless it was respectable, inhabited by decent
people. The house itself was a small wooden one. Now it is true that at
that day New York was a very different place from what it is at
present; and a wooden house, and even a small wooden house, did not
mean then what it means now; an abode of Irish washerwomen, or of
something still less distinguished. Yet Esther startled a little at the
thought of bringing her father and herself to inhabit it. Christopher
had the key; and he fastened Buonaparte, and let Esther in, and went
all over the house with her. It was in order, truly, as its owner had
said; even clean; and nothing was off the hinges or wanting paint or
needing plaster. 'Right and tight' it was, and susceptible of being
made an abode of comfort; yet it was a very humble dwelling,
comparatively, and in an insignificant neighbourhood; and Esther
hesitated. Was it pride? she asked herself. Why did she hesitate? Yet
she lingered over the place, doubting and questioning and almost
deciding it would not do. Then Christopher, I cannot tell whether
consciously or otherwise, threw in a makeweight that fell in the scale
that was threatening to rise.

'If you please, Miss Esther, would you speak to the master about the
blacksmith's bill? I don't hardly never see the colonel, these days.'

Esther faced round upon him. The word 'bill' always came to her now
like a sort of stab. She repeated his words. 'The blacksmith's bill?'

'Yes, mum; that is, Creasy, the blacksmith; just on the edge o' the
town. It's been runnin' along, 'cause I never could get sight o' the
colonel to speak to him about it.'

'Bill for what?'

'Shoes, mum.'

'_Shoes?_' repeated Esther. 'The blacksmith? What do you mean?'

'S