“No, it is my cap,” said Jenny Hart, “let the poor old man play, for once in his life; only think how long he has been nailed to this counter. Just make a codicil to your will, Mr. Martin Barton, and give the poor old soul one hundred dollars a year for life—I am only too glad to get him out of the shop. By twelve to-morrow we shall have two nice young lads—if I can only remember their names—I wish people would give their children plain names. Oh, I forgot, Mrs. Armstrong will be in town to-morrow; I have hired the house next door, as you told me, and here is the lease. I paid one year’s rent, you see, in advance.” “Good,” said Martin Barton. “Excellent,” said his wife. The back door stood open, and happy Hosea Bringle was playing _sleep_ with the children, while they were tickling his ears with a straw, and then he would snap at the straw, which made the little girls shout again. “Hojer Bringle will fall asleep in good earnest,” said Jenny Hart to a lady who was buying hair pins of her, and in a few moments he was snoring. “How old are your little girls?” said the lady to Mrs. Martin Barton. “How old are the two twins?—how old are they, Jenny? I forget.” “Ten years old, Mrs. Martin Barton; I thought I had better leave them another year with old Mrs. Playfair, for they had been cooped up so here, in this close place, that they were sickly like, and the good old lady has quite freshened them up again. They have not learned much, that is book learning, but all that will come in a few years, as Mrs. Armstrong is a rock of learning. Ira Elkado, you are the very prince of buyers.” The young man had just come in loaded from auction. “Oh, what beautiful slippers—just what we wanted. Chessmen!—how many have you? only three sets—well, I’ll take them off your hands, for we don’t sell chessmen, you know, and I have been wanting to make a few presents. Never buy things we are not in the habit of selling; it only confuses us. Here is your money; pray Mr. Martin Barton charge me with fifteen dollars—they are as cheap as dirt, Ira Elkado.” “Devil take the girl,” thought Ira Elkado. And so she went on, talking and acting, and letting no one get the better of her, while the good couple did their share of labour too, for the shop had a very great run, and customers stood three deep sometimes. “We shall have to push the shop into the back room,” said she to Martin Barton, “and get two more clerks—I mean two more besides those that are coming to-morrow.” “Good,” said Martin Barton. “I don’t hear the children’s voices any more,” said a lady to Mrs. Martin Barton, “where are they?” “Oh, they live next door with Mrs. Armstrong; we could not attend to them ourselves, you know, having so much to do.” “How old are they now, Mrs. Martin Barton.” “How old are the two twins?—let me see—how old are they, Jenny Hart?”