of these admirers of Carry were really in earnest, and would gladly have shared their homes and salaries with the tobacconist’s pretty daughter; but she gave no encouragement to one more than another, and to the two or three who, in spite of this, had endeavoured to persuade her to unite her lot with theirs, she had very decidedly intimated that she had at present no idea whatever of changing her condition. By half past nine her work was nearly over. The last batch of her visitors was off to town; the last “Times” was sold out, and in those days there were no penny papers. When the shop was empty Carry went into the little parlour, and found that her father had got the breakfast ready, and was sitting by the side of the fire waiting patiently till she should come in. Stephen Walker was no more sorry than his daughter was that he should have some excuse for leaving her alone in the shop during the busy time. He was perfectly aware that a large proportion of his customers came more for the purpose of seeing and talking with her than to buy tobacco or papers. And as he felt perfectly assured of Carry’s discretion and self-respect, he was not at all afraid of leaving her to take care of herself. At first it had not been so, and he had been very loath to leave her in the shop alone, and had, when he went into the parlour, been in the habit of leaving the door ajar, so that he could hear what went on. When he found, however, that the conversation never surpassed the limits of fair badinage, and that Carry turned aside all the compliments paid to her, with a merry laugh, he grew confident, and was quite content to leave her to herself, especially as he could not but feel that his presence was a restraint both to them and her. He was quite sensible of the fact that in the two years which had elapsed since she first took her place in the shop, that the business had trebled, and that his and her comforts were proportionately increased. They had scarcely sat down to breakfast before they heard some one come into the shop. Carry got up with a little exclamation of impatience, opened the door, and looked out. “Good morning, Evan, what is it?” “Good morning, miss. Could I speak to Mr. Walker?” “Come in Evan, we are at breakfast; that is right; now shut the door.” “What do you want, Evan?” Stephen Walker asked. “If you please, sir, I wanted to ask you, if when you go up to town, you would get me some books for James to read.” “What sort of books, Evan?”