"Well, we have pants, coarse and fine roundabouts, shirts, drawers, and almost any article of men's wear you can mention." "What do you give for shirts, sir?" "Various prices; from six cents up to twenty five, according to the quality of the article." "Only twenty-five cents for fine shirts!" returned the young woman, in a surprised, disappointed, desponding tone. "_Only_ twenty-five cents? _Only?_ Yes, _only_ twenty-five cents! Pray, how much did you expect to get, Miss?" retorted the clothier, in a half sneering, half offended voice. "I don't know. But twenty-five cents is very little for a hard day's work." "Is it, indeed? I know enough who are thankful for even that. Enough who are at it early and late, and do not even earn as much. Your ideas will have to come down a little, Miss, if you expect to work for this branch of business." "What do you give for vests and pantaloons?" asked the woman, without seeming to notice the man's rudeness. "For common trowsers with pockets, twelve cents; and for finer ones, fifteen and twenty cents. Vests about the same rates." "Have you any shirts ready?" "Yes, a plenty. Will you have 'em coarse or fine?" "Fine, if you please." "How many will you take?" "Let me have three to begin with." "Here, Michael," cried the man to the attendant who had been first addressed by the stranger, "give this girl three fine shirts to make." Then turning to her, he said, "They are cotton shirts, with linen collars, bosoms, and wristbands. There must be two rows of stitching down the bosoms, and one row upon the wristband. Collars plain. And remember, they must be made very nice." "Yes, sir," was the reply, made in a sad voice, as the young creature turned from her employer and went up to the shop-attendant to receive the three shirts. "You've never worked for the clothing stores, I should think?" remarked this individual, looking her in the face with a steady gaze. "Never," replied the applicant, in a low tone, half shrinking away, with an instinctive aversion for the man. "Well, it's pretty good when one can't do any better. An industrious sewer can get along pretty well upon a pinch." No reply was made to this. The shirts were now ready; but, before they were handed to her, the man bent over the counter, and, putting his face close to hers, said-- "What might your name be, Miss?" A quick flush suffused the neck and face of the girl, as she stepped back a pace or two, and answered-- "That is of no consequence, sir." "Yes, Miss, but it is of consequence. We never give out work to people who don't tell their names. We would be a set of unconscionable fools to do that, I should think." The young woman stood thoughtful for a little while, and then said, while her cheek still burned-- "Lizzy Glenn." "Very well. And now, Miss Lizzy, be kind enough to inform me where you live." "That is altogether unnecessary. I will bring the work home as soon as I have finished it."