“Now you are all pleased,” said Jenny Hart, “but Ira Elkado; and why he don’t lift up the cover I cannot tell. I must do it for him.” She lifted up the cover, and only a little note was seen. Archy Campbell felt injured, for he dreaded the contents of the note; but he need not have been jealous. It ran thus: “Mr. Ira Elkado, you have served me faithfully for seven years. I shall want you no longer. At the corner of Joice street, you will find your shop. I hope it will be to your liking. One year’s rent is paid. Your friend, Martin Barton.” Ira Elkado had nearly fainted; but, rallying, he lifted up his head to thank Jenny Hart; but she was gone. Out he rushed to look at his shop. He might well thank Jenny Hart, for it was all her doings. She had persuaded Martin Barton to give the young man this outfit—a thousand dollars’ worth. Ira Elkado made heaps of money, and died a rich man; but he had visions of Jenny Hart to the last. At twelve o’clock the little girls’ present was at the door; a handsome new carriage, and a pair of excellent, gentle horses. “There’s for you, dears,” said she, as the happy children flew to the window; “there, jump in. After sitting in church so long you will be the better for a little ride. Come, let us all go; Martin Barton has never been inside of a carriage in his life; and I can scarcely remember how it is.” The whole family—six—took a nice ride to old Mr. Daly’s, and had a fine Christmas dinner. “Well, young gentlemen, how did you like the contents of the notes?” said she, the next morning. “O delightful! Most happy it made us,” said Alfred Gray and Jasper Merry. “And the honour is deeply felt by me,” said Archy Campbell, blushing and looking tenderly at Jenny Hart, who said, “Pshaw.” The notes were nothing more than an invitation from Mrs. Armstrong to go with them to the museum. From that hour every evening was spent in Mrs. Armstrong’s parlour; and innocent they were, for the lady was indeed, as Jenny Hart said, a rock of learning; and loved to improve young people. Martin Barton knew no more what was going on next door than if the family was not his; all the day was spent behind the counter, and the evening found them so tired that they were only fit for the bed when the money was counted, and put in the iron chest. On Sunday they went regularly to church, in the morning, dined, took a long nap in the afternoon, were called up to tea, yawned while drinking it; and, after a few vain attempts to keep awake, fairly took the candle and went to bed. Poor tired souls; if it had not been for this one day’s rest, they never could have gone through the week. But Jenny Hart did not tire; her little caoutchouc frame never failed her. Her twins and herself, with Mrs. Armstrong and old Hosea, spent almost every Sunday with Mr. and Mrs. Daly, going with them to the village church.