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“Well, what is it?” Mrs.–coldly asked.

“I want six dollars more than I have got, for a very particular purpose. Won’t you advance me the price of three capes, and I will bring you in one a week, until I have made it up.”

“No, miss,” was the prompt and decisive answer–“I never pay any one for work not done. Pay beforehand, and never pay, are the two worst kinds of pay!”

All this was distinctly heard by Mrs. Harwood, and her very heart ached, as she saw the poor girl turn, with a disappointed air, away, and walk slowly out of the store.

“That’s just the way with these people,” ejaculated Mrs.–, in affected indignation, meant to mislead Mrs. Harwood, who, she feared, had overheard what the young woman had said. “They’re always trying in some way or other, to get the advantage of you.”

“How so?” asked Mrs. Harwood, wishing to learn all she could about the stranger who had interested her feelings.

“Why, you see, I pay that girl a good price for doing a certain kind of work for me, and the money is always ready for her, the moment her work is done. But, not satisfied with that, she wanted me, just now, to advance her the price of three weeks’ work. If I had been foolish enough to have done it, it would have been the last I ever should have seen of either money, work, or seamstress.”

“Perhaps not,” Mrs. Harwood ventured to remark.

“You don’t know these kind of people as well as I do, Mrs. Harwood. I’ve been tricked too often in my time.”

“Of course not,” was the quiet reply. Then after a pause,

“What kind of sewing did she do for you, Mrs.–?”

“Nothing very particular; only a little fine work. I employ her, more out of charity, than anything else.”

“Do you know anything about her?”

“She’s old Graham’s daughter, I believe. I’m told he died in the Alms-house, a few weeks ago.”

“What old Graham?” Mrs. Harwood asked, in a quick voice.

“Why, old Graham, the rich merchant that was, a few years ago. Quite a tumble-down their pride has had, I reckon! Why, I remember when nothing in my store was good enough for them. But they are glad enough now to work for me at any price I choose to pay them.”

For a few moments, Mrs. Harwood was so shocked that she could not reply. At length she asked–

“Which of the girls was it that I saw here, just now?”

“That was Mary.”

“Do you know anything of Anna?”

“Yes. She stands in a store in Second-street.”

“And Ellen?”

“Married to a drunken, worthless fellow, who abuses and half starves her. But that’s the way; pride must have a fall!”

“Where do they live?” pursued Mrs. Harwood.

“Indeed, and that’s more than I know,” Mrs.–replied, tossing her head.

Unable to gain any further information, Mrs. Harwood left the store, well convinced that the richly-wrought cape, for which she had paid Mrs.–fifteen dollars, had been worked by the hands of Mary Graham, for which she received but a mere pittance.

Poor Mary returned home disappointed and deeply troubled in mind. She had about three dollars in money, besides the two which Mrs.–had paid her. If the six she had asked for had only been advanced, as she fondly hoped would be the case, the aggregate sum, eleven dollars, added to three which Anna had saved, would have enabled them to purchase a coat and hat for their brother, who would be ready in a few days to go out. They were anxious to do, this, under the hope, that by providing him with clothes of a more respectable appearance than he had been used to wearing, he would be led to think more of himself, seek better company, and thus be further removed from danger. At her first interview with Mrs.–, Mary’s heart had failed her–and it was only after she had left the store and walked some squares homeward, that she could rally herself sufficiently to return and make her request. It was refused, as has been seen.