To people in the streets who, caught by some attraction in his window, stopped and looked thereat, he was watchful from behind his counter--speculating as to whether they were probable purchasers, or had felonious designs. He was a suspicious man to a certain extent as well as a careful one, and no one lingered at his window without becoming an object of interest from behind the tobacco-jars and penny numbers. On this evening a haggard white face--whether a girl or woman's he could not make out for the mist on the window-panes--had appeared several times before the shop-window, and looked in, over the beads, and tapes, and through packets of paper, _at him_. Not interested at anything for sale, but keeping an eye on him, he felt assured. He had a bill in the window--"A BOY WANTED"--and if it had been a boy's face flitting about in the rain there, he should not have been so full of doubts as to the object with which he was watched; but there was a battered bonnet on the head of the watcher, and therefore no room for speculation concerning sex, at least. After an hour's fugitive dodging, Mattie--for it was she--came at a slow rate into the shop. She walked forwards very feebly, and took a firm grip of the counter to steady herself. Mr. Wesden critically surveyed her from his post of observation; she did not speak, but she kept her black eyes directed to the face in front of her. "Well--what do you want, Mattie?" asked Mr. Wesden, finally. "Nothin'--that is to buy." "Ah! then we've nothing to give away for you any more." "I want to speak to Master Hinchford," said Mattie; "I've come about the brooch." "Not brought it back!" exclaimed Mr. Wesden, roused out of his apathetic demeanour by this assertion. "I wish I had--no, I on'y want to see him." Mr. Wesden called to his wife, and delivered Mattie's request through the glass, keeping one eye on the new comer all the while. Mrs. Wesden sent her daughter up-stairs with the message, and presently from a side door opening into the shop Miss Wesden made her appearance. "If you please, will you walk up-stairs?" Harriet Wesden spoke very kindly, and edged away from Mattie as she advanced--Mattie was the girl who had stolen the brooch, a strange creature from an uncivilized world, and the stationer's little daughter was afraid of her old pensioner. The girl from the streets stared at Harriet Wesden in her turn, looked very intently at her warm dress and white pinafore, and then looked back at Mr. Wesden. "May I go up, sir?" "I don't see why they can't come down here," he grumbled, "but you must go up if they want to see you. Stop here, Harriet, and call Ann--you might catch something, girl." Ann was called, and presently a broad-faced, red-armed girl made her appearance. "Show a light to this girl up-stairs, Ann." "This girl--here?" "Yes--that girl there." "Oh! lawks--so _you've_ turned up agin."