"Yes, sir; don't she write pretty? I can write too, but not like that." "Well, I shall call and see your mother, if I want work. Here is the money for the gloves." "I cannot make change; have you got the change, or shall I run out and get it changed? I will if you will keep my basket." "No, no; I do not wish any change. You may keep it all." "Oh, that is just the way that good old gentleman said last night--keep it all. Ah, me!" And she gave a little start of surprise as she looked at the individual who seemed to be standing behind my chair. "Why, here he is now. I do wonder if he has heard me talking all about him? I hope I have not said anything wrong." "No, no, nothing that you need to blush for. I am glad you have found another friend to talk with; one who is willing to pay you for the time--time is money--that he keeps you from your business." It was my turn to start now. I had heard that voice before. In a moment I could fix it in my memory, though it was a good many years since I had heard it, and then it was in the wilds of the West. I offered him my hand, and said: "We have shaken hands before. Your name is--" "Lovetree. And now I know you. I thought it was some one whom I had seen before. I saw you in such earnest conversation with this little pedlar girl, that I could not help drawing nigh to hear; I must own I wished to see if she would tell you the same story she did me. I think now she is a girl of truth. What can we do for her? Shall we go and see her mother?" "I wish you would to-morrow. She is not at home to-night. She has gone--at any rate she told me she would go to see a lady, a real good lady, who is worse off than my mother, for she is in a bad house, and she wants to get away; she told me so to-day, and they will not let her. She is one of the best women in the world. She is a dress-maker, and she used to live so nice in Broome street, close by my mother, with another good girl, and that girl got married and moved away off out West, I don't know how many thousand miles; and this girl got married too; and, oh dear! her husband used to get so drunk, and go to bad places, and his wife used to work and work; my mother used to work for her, and she was good to my mother, and that is what makes me so sorry for her now." "How came she in the bad house you tell of, and how did you come to find her there?"