The lady looked at me rather strangely, but measured off five yards of Turkey-red calico.  Then she rapped on the counter and called out “cash!” A little girl, with yellow hair in two long plaits, came slowly up.  The lady wrote the number of yards, the name of the goods, her own number, the price, the amount of the bank-note I handed her, and some other matters, probably the color of my eyes, and the direction and velocity of the wind, on a slip of paper.  She then copied all this in a little book which she kept by her.  Then she handed the slip of paper, the money, and the Turkey-red to the yellow-haired girl.  This young girl copied the slip in a little book she carried, and then she went away with the calico, the paper slip, and the money.

After a very long time,—­during which the little girl probably took the goods, the money, and the slip to some central desk, where the note was received, its amount and number entered in a book, change given to the girl, a copy of the slip made and entered, girl’s entry examined and approved, goods wrapped up, girl registered, plaits counted and entered on a slip of paper and copied by the girl in her book, girl taken to a hydrant and washed, number of towel entered on a paper slip and copied by the girl in her book, value of my note and amount of change branded somewhere on the child, and said process noted on a slip of paper and copied in her book,—­the girl came to me, bringing my change and the package of Turkey-red calico.

I had time for but very little work at the office that afternoon, and when I reached home, I handed the package of calico to my wife She unrolled it and exclaimed: 

“Why, this don’t match the piece I gave you!”

“Match it!” I cried.  “Oh, no! it don’t match it.  You didn’t want that matched.  You were mistaken.  What you wanted was Turkey-red—­third counter to the left.  I mean, Turkey-red is what they use.”

My wife looked at me in amazement, and then I detailed to her my troubles.

“Well,” said she, “this Turkey-red is a great deal prettier than what I had, and you’ve got so much of it that I needn’t use the other at all.  I wish I had thought of Turkey-red before.”

“I wish from my heart you had,” said I.

ANDREW SCOGGIN.

—­The Lady or the Tiger, and other stories.

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

(BORN, 1835.)

* * * * *

AUNT PEN’S FUNERAL.

Poor Aunt Pen!  I am sorry to say it, but for a person alive and well—­tolerably well and very much alive, that is—­she did use to make the greatest business of dying!  Alive! why, when she was stretched out on the sofa, after an agony of asthma, or indigestion, or whatever, and had called us all about her with faltering and tears, and was apparently at her last gasp, she would suddenly rise, like her own ghost, at the sound of a second ringing of the door-bell, which our little renegade Israel had failed to answer, and declare if she could only once lay hands on Israel she would box his ears till they heard!