Sigismund Sloper had entered the shop at the same time with Martin Barton, but although he was a decent lad enough, and had been a year out of his time, for he was fifteen when he began his service, yet Mr. Daly had no great partiality for him. He continued on, therefore, at good wages, till the present time, when little Jenny Hart spoke up and said that Sigismund Sloper was not wanted any longer, as she had heard of an excellent lad of the right age who would work better and cheaper. Now Jenny Hart was the oracle of the shop; she likewise had been in Mr. Daly’s employ for a term of years—three, I believe—but it was a far different thing to see her move about and direct every thing that was done, than when the clerks or Martin Barton did it. Clean and neat, too, was little Jenny Hart, quick at meals and quick at work, an early riser and a late sitter up; and such a tongue as she had, such a spirit as she showed, such a goer and comer! In short, little Jenny Hart was the life and soul of the establishment, and money came in so fast that the money drawers had to be emptied every night—no credit—happy thread and needle people were Mr. and Mrs. Martin Barton. Sigismund Sloper vowed vengeance against little Jenny Hart; for she was a free spoken little thing, and made no scruple of speaking out her thoughts. He was too slow and too tardy of speech for such off hand business as theirs, and was too mulish to learn, so she fairly told him that on the first of May—three months ahead—Ira Elkado was to take his place. She cast many an anxious glance at old Hosea Bringle, wishing him out of the concern too, for he was very much in her way, and it was really hard upon her, for thus it went all day, week in and week out: “It is three cents a yard, Hojer Bringle—(she always called him Hojer)—this way, miss, that old gentleman does not know our private mark, and yet he has lived in this shop seven years.” The old man sighed, and little Jenny Hart heard him. “To be sure there is an excuse for him, as he was always at the desk when we gave credit—nine yards and a half?—yes, sir, stocks of all kinds, beautiful and well made—too high a price!—oh, no indeed—will I take eighteen shillings? no, but I’ll split the difference—Hojer Bringle, give this gentleman five shillings—Hojer Bringle examines all the three dollar notes, sir.” And so little Jenny Hart’s tongue run on, while she cast rueful glances at the old man and strove to harden her heart against him. Ira Elkado came in at one fold of the double door as Sigismund Sloper went out at the other, and Jenny Hart laughed out in one of the customers’ face while selling him a pair of stockings. The man looked at his waistcoat and at his hands, and cast a glance at himself in the glass behind the little shop girl’s head, but as nothing was amiss he attributed it to a joyous spirit, as in reality it was. “You are merry, Jenny Hart, this fine May morning,” said he. “I suspect you are thinking of your lover.”