"Not the least in the world, girls. Go ahead. I wonder where John is! There! you'll sneeze your pretty noses off--let me finish it. John has no business to leave the store. I don't like it--five cents, auntie, to _you_--and I told him particularly not to leave it a minute. I don't understand it; very sorry you've been kept waiting. What shall I show you, young lady?" and father passed behind the counter and stood with his toes touching my legs, notwithstanding I had shrunk into as small space as was convenient, considering my size and weight. It was getting toward dusk of the short winter afternoon, and I hoped and prayed he wouldn't notice me. "What shall I show you, young ladies?" "Some light kid gloves, No. 6, please." "Yes, certainly--here they are. I do believe there's a strange dog under the counter! Get out--get out, sir, I say!" and my cruel parent gave me a vicious kick. I pinched his leg impressively. I meant it as a warning, to betray to him that it was I, and to implore him, figuratively, to keep silence. But he refused to comprehend that agonized pinch; he resented it. He gave another vicious kick. Then he stooped and looked under--it was a little dark--too dark, alas! under there. He saw a man--but not to recognize him. "Ho!" he yelled; "robber! thief! burglar! I've got you, fellow! Come out o' that!" I never before realized father's strength. He got his hand in my collar, and he jerked me out from under that counter, and shook me, and held me off at arm's length. "There, Mr. Burglar," said he, triumphantly, "sneak in here again will--JOHN!" The girls had been screaming and running, but they stood still now. "Yes, _John_!" said I, in desperation. "The drawer came loose under the counter, and I was nailing on a strip of board when those _young ladies_ came in. I kept quiet, just for fun. They began to talk in an interesting manner, curiosity got the better of politeness, and I'm afraid I've played eavesdropper," and I made a killing bow, meant especially for Belle. "Well, you're a pretty one!" exclaimed father. "_So they say_," said I. "Don't leave, young ladies. I'd like to sell you a magnifying-glass, and some cold cream." But they all left in a hurry. They didn't even buy a pair of gloves. The girls must have told of it, for the story got out, and Fred advised me to try counter-irritation for my bashfulness. "You're not a burglar," said he, "but you're guilty of counter-fitting." "Nothing would suit me better," I retorted, "than to be tried for it, and punished by solitary confinement." And there was nothing I should have liked so much. The iron had entered my soul. I was worse than ever. I purchased a four-ounce vial of laudanum, went to my room, and wrote a letter to my mother: