On Monday morning Aaron commenced business. In the shop window was a display of miscellaneous articles ticketed at low prices, and Aaron took his place behind his counter, ready to dispose of them, ready to argue and bargain, and to advance money on any other articles on which a temporary loan was required. He did not expect a rush of customers, being aware that pawnbroking was a tree of very small beginnings, a seed which needed time before it put forth flourishing branches. The security was sure, the profits accumulative. He was confident of the result. Human necessity, even human frailty, was on his side; all he had to do was to be fair in his dealings. In the course of the day he had a good many callers; some to make inquiries, some to offer different things in pledge. Of these latter the majority were children, with whom he declined to negotiate. "Who sent you?" "Mother." "Go home and tell her she must come herself." He would only do business with grown-up people. Setting before himself a straight and honest rule of life, he was not the man to wander from it for the sake of a little profit. Of the other description of callers a fair proportion entered the shop out of idle curiosity. He had pleasant words for all, and gave change for sixpences and shillings with as much courtesy as if each transaction was a gain to him--as, indeed, it was, for no man or woman who entered with an unfavorable opinion of him (influenced by certain rumors to his discredit which had been circulated by Mr. Whimpole) departed without having their minds disturbed by his urbanity and genial manners. "I don't see any harm in him," was the general verdict from personal evidence; "he's as nice a spoken man as I ever set eyes on." On the evening of this first day he expressed his satisfaction at the business he had done. "Our venture will turn out well," he said to Rachel. "The flag of fortune is waving over us." It was eight o'clock, and although he scarcely expected further custom, he kept the gas burning in the shop window. "Light is an attraction," he observed; "it is better than an advertisement in the papers." The evening was fine; he and Rachel were sitting in the parlor, with the intermediate door open. Aaron was smoking a handsome silver-mounted pipe and making up his accounts, while his wife was busy with her needle. Satan could never have put anything in the shape of mischief in the way of these two pairs of industrious hands, for they were never idle, except during the Sabbath and the fasts and the holidays, and then it was not idleness, but rest divinely ordained. The silver-mounted pipe was one of Aaron's most precious possessions, it being his beloved wife's gift to him on his last birthday; he would not have sold it for ten times its weight in gold. At peace with the world and with themselves, they conversed happily as they worked; but malignant influences were at work of which they were soon to feel the shock.