The boy threw himself obediently into a chair, and watched—still with Pinkie’s eyes—while Miss Sally adorned herself with a bonnet and shawl of strange and intricate construction. How the brown eyes would have laughed at Miss Sally’s bonnet, thought Louis. Then Polly closed her books with a bang. “There, that’s done!” she said. “The Bible says we must bear one another’s burdens; and I’ve had my share of it this day. I hate accounts.” “Let me do them for you next time,” said Louis, looking down at Polly’s flushed face and tumbled hair, and the soiled gingham apron she had been too busy to change. “I hope there won’t _be_ a next time,” replied Polly. “If there is, we must get another cashier; that’s all. But Gretchen is real reliable generally.” “I hope nothing has happened to her,” said Louis uneasily, thinking of two figures that had vanished round a corner in North Micklegard, as the Ark of the Covenant drew nigh. The man was, he felt sure, Frank Randolph, and the girl had on a blue dress, just the color of Gretchen’s Sunday one. “Oh! nothing ever happens to Gretchen,” said Polly, laughing. “Tina is the one I’m anxious about.” “So?” said the boy slowly. Twenty-four, nay, twelve hours earlier he would have spoken at once of the blue dress; but—after all, there were plenty of blue dresses in the world;—and—then—_were_ classes so widely separated in America,—Republican America, that—Louis shrunk from formulating, even to himself, the thought in his mind. He took the books, and carried them away in silence. His modest tap at the door of the board-room was answered by a summons to enter; and when he deposited his burden upon the plain, deal table, with its covering of oilcloth, round which the managers sat upon much worn wooden chairs,—for there was little effort at luxury at “Prices,”—there was not a face in the room but wore a smile to greet him. They were gray-haired men, all of them, who had known him all his life, and they could not let him go without a pleasant word. “Have you turned book-keeper, Herr Louis?” asked one. “We missed you at supper-time,” said another. “Ah! he was better employed, perhaps I hope she is pretty.” “Did you give her a good hug and a sounding kiss?” “Ah! leave that to him, he knows very well how these things are managed.” “He has a face to help him better with the girls than any of your advice.” These were some of the things that were said to him before his father broke in roughly, “Hold your tongues, all of you! would you quite turn the boy’s head? What does it matter, a face! Hands are what we need in shoemaking.” “The boy looks tired,” said the old president gently; “and you are all wrong, _meine Herren_. He has been doing works of charity, not courting. I saw you up-town, Louis, with your lame friend.” “Yes, he enjoyed the ride,” said Louis. “I am glad to be of use to him, Herr President; they have all been so kind to me.”