Nancy protested, but Miss Michin insisted, and in a short time the dress was pinned up in a dark cloth, and Nancy having drunk the tea, more to please her kind friend than because she thought it would cure her headache, donned the little jacket and fantastic hat, and went across to the post-office, which was also a shop of a general description.

Mrs. Dodd was engaged in lighting her shop-window when Nancy entered.

“I have brought Emma’s dress, Mrs. Dodd,” she began, when that lady had descended from the high stool on which she had mounted to place the lamps in the window.  “Miss Michin told me to tell you there wasn’t enough of the plush to finish off the lappets to match the collar and cuffs, but she thinks you’ll like it just as well as it is.”

Mrs. Dodd examined the little dress, and, having approved of it, asked in a friendly way what Nancy herself was going to have new this Christmas.

“Oh, I don’t know yet,” answered Nancy, colouring deeply.  “You see, I’m not earning yet, and father’s wages are small, you know.”

“Mr. Hurst is real mean, I know that,” exclaimed the post-mistress, decidedly.  “None but a very mean man would have cut your poor father’s wages down after he was laid up with a bad leg so long.”

“But father says himself that he can’t do as much since his accident, and he doesn’t want to be paid beyond what he earns,” Nancy explained, hastily.

Mrs. Dodd began to fold up Emma’s dress, remarking, as she did so, “It’s a queer go as Mr. Hurst should have let young Mr. Fred do nothink but music; but, to be sure, he do play beautiful.  My Benny, as blows the organ for him, says it’s ’eavenly what he makes up himself.  He’s uncommon handsome, too; much like his mother, who was, poor young lady, a heap too good for the likes of Jacob Hurst.  She used to play the church organ like the angel Gabriel.”

Mrs. Dodd glanced at Nancy to see the effect of this simile, which was quite an inspiration, but the girl was intent on smoothing the creases out of her very old and much-mended kid gloves.

“Folks do say, Miss Nancy,” went on Mrs. Dodd, “as young Mr. Fred had a fancy for you at one time, and as you sent him to the rightabouts.  Now, I say as—­”

“Oh, please don’t say anything about it, Mrs. Dodd,” broke out Nancy, excitedly.  “It’s all a mistake—­I am not his equal in any way—­he never thought of anything like that.”  She would have added, “Nor I;” but she was too truthful.  An overwhelming sense of shame came over her.  How could she have given her heart away unsought!

With a hasty good-night she left the shop, closing the door so sharply in her self-condemnation as to set the little bell upon it ringing as if it had gone mad.  She could hear its metallic tinkle till she was close upon the church.  Here other sounds filled her ears.  There was a light in the church, and Fred Hurst was there playing one of Bach’s Fugues.