Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, and found Mr. Swartz seated before a desk.  The office, for it was his private office, was most elegantly furnished, and exhibited marks of the proprietor’s wealth.

Mr. Swartz elevated his brows with surprise, as he looked at the care-worn expression and needy attire of the woman before him.

“Vot can I do for you my coot voman,” he enquired, without even extending the courtesy of offering her a seat.

Mrs. Wentworth remained for a moment without replying.  She was embarrassed at the uncourteous reception Mr. Swartz gave her.  She did not recollect her altered outward appearance, but thought only of the fact that she was a lady.  Her intention to appeal to him for credit, wavered for awhile, but the gaunt skeleton, WANT, rose up and held her two children before her, and she determined to subdue pride, and ask the obligation.

“I do not know if you recollect me,” she replied at last, and then added, “I am the lady who purchased a lot of furniture from you a few weeks ago.”

“I do not remember,” Mr. Swartz observed, with a look of surprise.  “But vot can I to for you dis morning?”

“I am a soldier’s wife,” Mrs. Wentworth commenced hesitatingly.  “My husband is now a prisoner in the North, and I am here, a refugee from New Orleans, with two small children.  Until a short time ago I had succeeded in supporting my little family by working on soldiers’ clothing, but the Quartermaster’s department having ceased to manufacture clothing, I have been for several days without work.”  Here she paused.  It pained her to continue.

Mr. Swartz looked at her with surprise, and the idea came into his mind that she was an applicant for charity.

“Vell, vot has dat got to do vid your pisness,” he observed in a cold tone of voice, determined that she should see no hope in his face.

“This much,” she replied.  “For over twenty-four hours my two little children and myself have been without food, and I have not a dollar to purchase it.”

“I can’t do anything for you,” Mr. Swartz said with a frown.

“Dere is scarce a day but some peoples or anoder vants charity and I—­”

“I do not come to ask for charity,” she interrupted hastily.  “I have only come to ask you a favor.”

“Vat is it?” he enquired.

“As I told you before, my children and myself are nearly starving,” she replied.  “I have not the means of buying food at present, but think it more than likely I will procure work in a few days.  I have called to ask if you would give me credit for a few articles of food until then, by which I will be able to sustain my family.”

“I thought it vas something like charity you vanted,” he observed, “but I cannot do vat you vish.  It is te same ting every tay mit te sogers’ families.  Dey comes here and asks for charity and credit, shust as if a man vas made of monish.—­Gootness gracious!  I don’t pelieve dat te peoples who comes here every tay is as pad off as tey vish to appear.”