Glory swallowed fast. This was almost too tempting for resistance, but she had been trained to a horror of debt and had resolved upon that slight one, earlier in the day, only because she could not see her grandfather distressed. Her own distress----Huh! That was an indifferent matter. The corner groceries of the poor are also their meat markets, bakeries, and dairies, and there was so much in the crowded little shop that was alluring that the child forced herself to look diligently out of the door into the alley lest she should be untrue to her training. In a brief time the shopman called, "All ready, Take-a-Stitch! Here's your parcel." Glory faced about and gasped. That was such a very big parcel toward which he pointed that she felt he had made a mistake and so reminded him, "Guess that ain't mine, that ain't. One chop an' a small roll 'twas. That must be Mis' Dodd's, 'cause she's got nine mouths to feed, savin' Nick's 'at he feeds himself." "Not so, neighbor. It's yourn. The hull o' it. They's only a loaf, a trifle stale--one them three-centers, kind of mouldy on the corners where't can be cut off--an' two the finest chops you ever set your little white teeth into. They're all yourn." The grocer enjoyed doing this kindness as heartily as she enjoyed receiving it, although he was so thrifty that he made his own meal from equally stale bread and some unsalable dried fish. But, after a momentary rapture at the prospect of such delicious food, Glory's too active conscience interfered, making her say, with a regret almost beyond expression, "I mustn't, I mustn't. Grandpa wouldn't like it, 'cause he says 'always pay's you go or else don't go,' an' that nickel's all I've got." "No, 'tisn't. Not by a reckonin'. You've got the nimblest pair o' hands I know an' I've got the shabbiest coat. I'm fair ashamed to wear it to market, yet I ain't a man 'shamed of trifles. If you'll put them hands of yourn and that coat o' mine together, I'd be like to credit you a quarter, an' you find the patches." "A quarter! A hull, endurin' quarter of a dollar! You darlin' old grocer-man. 'Course I will, only I--I'm nigh out o' thread, but I've got a power o' patches. I've picked 'em out the ash-boxes an' washed 'em beautiful. An' they're hung right on our own ceiling in the cutest little bundle ever was--an'--I love you, I love you; Give me the coat, quick, right now, so's I can run an' patch it, an' you see if I don't do the best job ever!" "Out of thread, be you? Well, here, take this fine spool o' black linen an' a needle to fit. A workman has to have his tools, don't he? I couldn't keep store if I didn't have things to sell, could I? Now, be off with you, an' my good word to the cap'n."