Slowly turning away, the woman moved, with hesitating steps, to the door, paused there a moment, and then went out. She lingered along, evidently undecided how to act, for several minutes, and then moved on at a quicker pace, as if doubt and uncertainty had given way to some encouraging thought. Threading her way along the narrow winding streets in the lower part of the city, she soon emerged into the open space used as a hay market, and, crossing over this, took her way in the direction of one of the bridges. Before reaching this, she turned down toward the right, and entered a small grocery. A woman was the only attendant upon this. "Won't you trust me for a little more, Mrs. Grubb?" she asked, in a supplicating voice, while she looked anxiously into her face. "No, ma'am! not one cent till that dollar's paid up!" was the sharp retort. "And, to tell you the truth, I think you've got a heap of impudence to come in here, bold-faced, and ask for more trust, after having promised me over and over again for a month to pay that dollar. No! pay the dollar first!" "I did intend to pay you a part of it this very day," replied Mrs. Gaston. "But"-- "Oh yes. It's 'but' this, and 'but' that. But 'buts' ain't my dollar. I'm an honest woman, and want to make an honest living; and must have my money." "But I only want a little, Mrs. Grubb. A few potatoes and, some salt fish; and just a gill of milk and a cup of flour. The children have had nothing to eat since yesterday. I took home six pairs of trowsers to-day, which came to ninety cents, at fifteen cents a pair. But I had seven pairs, and Mr. Berlaps wont pay me until I bring the whole number. It will take me till twelve o'clock to-night to finish them, and so I can't get any money before to-morrow. Just let me have two pounds of salt fish, which will be only seven cents, and, three cents' worth of potatoes; and a little milk and flour to make something for Ella. It won't be much, Mrs. Grubb, and it will keep the little ones from being hungry all day and till late to-morrow." Her voice failed her as she uttered the last sentence. But she restrained herself after the first sob that heaved her overladen bosom, and stood calmly awaiting the answer to her urgent petition. Mrs. Grubb was a woman, and a mother into the bargain. She had, too, the remains of a woman's heart, where lingered a few maternal sympathies. These were quick to prompt her to duty. Turning away without a reply, she weighed out two pounds of fish, measured a peck of potatoes, poured out some milk in a cup, and filled a small paper with flour. These she handed to Mrs. Gaston without uttering a word. "To-morrow you shall be paid for these, and something on the old account," said the recipient, as she took them and hurried from the shop.