"But suppose you should happen to forget our street and number? What then?" "Oh no, I shall not do that. I know the place very well," was the innocent reply. "No, but that won't do, Lizzy. We must have the name and place of residence of every man, woman, and child who work for us. It is our rule, and we never depart from it." There was another brief period of irresolution, and then the place of abode was given. This was first entered, with her name, in a book, and then the three shirts were handed over. The seamstress turned away on receiving them, and walked quickly from the shop. The appearance of this young applicant for work would have appealed instantly to the sympathies of any one but a regular slop-shop man, who looked only to his own profits, and cared not a fig whose heart-drops cemented the stones of his building. She was tall and slender, with light brown hair, clear soft complexion, and eyes of a mild hazel. But her cheeks were sunken, though slightly flushed, and her eyes lay far back in their sockets. Her forehead was high and very white. The tones of her voice, which was low, were soft and musical, and her words were spoken, few though they were, with a taste and appropriateness that showed her to be one who had moved in a circle of refinement and intelligence. As to her garments, they were old, and far too thin for the season. A light, faded shawl, of costly material, was drawn closely around her shoulders, but had not the power to keep from her attenuated frame the chill air, or to turn off the fine penetrating rain that came with the wind, searchingly, from the bleak north-east. Her dress, of summer calico, much worn, clung closely to her body. Above all was a close bonnet, and a thick veil, which she drew around her face as she stepped into the street and glided hurriedly away. "She's a touch above the vulgar, Michael," broke in Berlaps, the owner of the shop, coming forward as he spoke. "Yes, indeed! That craft has been taut rigged in her time." "Who can she be, Michael? None of your common ones, of course." "Oh no, of course not; she's 'seen better days,' as the slang phrase is." "No doubt of that. What name did she give?" "Lizzy Glenn. But that may or may not be correct. People like her are sometimes apt to forget even their own names." "Where does she live?" "In the lower part of the town somewhere. I have it in the book here." "You think she'll bring them shirts back?" "Oh yes. Folks that have come down in the world as she has rarely play grab game after that fashion." "She seemed all struck aback at the price." "I suppose so. Ha! ha!" "But she's the right kind," resumed Berlaps. "I only wish we had a dozen like her." "I wish we had. Her work will never rip." Further conversation was prevented by the entrance of a customer. Before he had been fully served, a middle-aged woman came in with a large bundle, and went back to Berlaps's desk, where he stood engaged over his account-books.