“Twelve years old this month, Mrs. Martin Barton, and as fine, healthy children as you would wish to see. Here, Alfred Gray, put up these goods, the porter has laid them before me, and they belong to Mr. Martin Barton’s shelves. These buttons are for the drawer, we shall retail them. Mr. Martin Barton, to-morrow we begin to close the shop at sundown. Alfred Gray and Jasper Merry stipulated, you know, that at the end of two years they were only to tend shop between sunrise and sunset.” “Very well,” said Martin Barton, “I am glad of it. Then we may as well all quit together, at the same hour, for the other young men have the like privilege.” “No,” said Jenny Hart, “Ira Elkado made no such bargain, he is to work evenings, and as there are many bundles to pack up, he can help the porter to”—but Jenny Hart cast those black eyes of hers to the end of the long counter, and there stood Ira Elkado figuring away at accounts, his auction accounts, and making all square. Her heart smote her, but she reasoned herself out of her tender feelings, for the man had been presumptuous and disposed to meddle, particularly with a fifth clerk, a clever young man who had his station on the right hand of Martin Barton, and, of course, next to her. Ira Elkado had at first longed for this post of honour, but his having to turn buyer at auctions kept him from having a regular station behind the counter. His place was the old spot once occupied by Hosea Bringle, and here he had to sit perched up at a small desk. Oh, how these people worked; never shop had such a run; and Jenny Hart’s fame had spread far and wide. Some people said she was beautiful, very beautiful; far too beautiful to stand behind the counter; but others thought that she was not so very beautiful either; only so remarkably shrewd and good humoured. The gentlemen made business every day to get a peep at her; and yet, after all, what was it? She had a neat, well made figure; a pretty hand, and a small foot, with a delicate ankle. Her eyes were like black cherries dipped in clear spring water; and her teeth were like grains of white corn, standing out a little. She had a large, well shaped mouth and rich red lips, with a breath like new made hay. Her cheek bones were a little too high, and her nose a thought too small; and her skin, the hundredth part of a shade too dark; but take her all in all there was a something which was very piquant about her. I forgot her voice; it was fine, clear, and musical, and such as no one could ever forget. “I’ll have her yet,” said Ira Elkado, as he sat watching her from the corner of his eye. “That lad, Archy Campbell, next her, thinks he is in a fair way to win her, but he shall eat poison first. I have wrought hard for her, and she and this shop shall be mine. I wonder how old the black eyed gipsy is.”