"Mary is very well," she said, hastily, and half smiling at the supposed alarm which had, she thought, brought him so suddenly in upon her. "Of course she is--of course she is," he replied, nodding; then, drawing a chair near to Rachel's, he sat down upon it, and, bending forward, with his two hands resting on his knees, he said, in a deep, impressive whisper, "Miss Gray, may I speak to you? I want you to advise me," he added, after a slight pause. "To advise you, Mr. Jones!" echoed Rachel, looking up at him, with mild astonishment. "Yes, Miss Gray," he firmly replied; and, slightly clearing his throat, he thus began: "Miss Gray, I aint a known you very long; but there aint another in this wide world whom I respect as I do you. And I think I have proved it; for haven't I given you my little Mary? I couldn't do more, Miss Gray," he added, with energetic earnestness. "Yes, Miss Gray, I do respect you; and that is why I want you to advise me. Now, this is the whole story:-- "From a boy, Miss Gray, I have wished to be in business. I was in business at Mr. Smith's, Mr. Smith was the grandfather of my little Mary, but not on my account; and that's not quite the same thing, you see. And I have wished to be in the grocery line, in particular, because of understanding it so much better, from having been brought up to it, like. Now, Miss Gray, here's the plain truth of the case. Some time ago, I found out, by chance, that there was not--actually, that there was not a grocer's shop in this immediate vicinity!" Here Mr. Jones held up his forefinger by way of note of admiration. "Well, Miss Gray," he resumed impressively, "that thought haunted me. Why here was the very place for me! A grocer was wanted. I found out, too, that the rag and bottle shop round the corner was just the place for me, and the people left, too; but bless you. Miss Gray, 't was all not a bit of use--for why--I hadn't got no capital! Well, Miss Gray, to make a long story short, a cousin of mine has just died, and left me all she had, poor thing, and that was sixty pound. Now, Miss Gray, what I want to know is this:--do you think that as a father--that is, the father of my little Mary--I'm justified in risking that money by setting up a shop, or that it's my duty to keep it all up for the child?" He looked earnestly in Rachel's face. Ay, the child; it was still the child, and always the child. His own was not his own--it was but a trust held for his little Mary. "Truly, Mr. Jones," said Rachel, smiling, "you can do what you like with your own." "No, indeed, Miss Gray," he rejoined, a little warmly, "I must think of my little Mary first; and you see the whole question is, which is best for her. Why, I aint slep these three nights with thinking on it, and so, at last, I thought I'd come to you."