Mrs. Walton knew better than this; but she did not feel in any humour to contend for the truth.  Mrs. Lander took up the shirts again, and made another examination.

“What is the price of them?” she asked.

“Seventy-five cents.”

“Apiece?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Seventy-five cents apiece!”

“I have never received less than that, and some for whom I sew always pay me a dollar.”

“Seventy five cents!  It is an imposition.  I know plenty of poor women who would have been glad of these shirts at half the price—­yes, or at a third of the price either.  Seventy-five cents, indeed!  Oh, no—­I will never pay a price like that.  I can go to any professed shirt-maker in the city, and get them made for seventy-five cents or a dollar.”

“I know you can, ma’am,” said Mrs. Walton, stung into self-possession by this unexpected language.  “But why should I receive less if my work is as well done?”

“A pretty question, indeed!” retorted Mrs. Lander, thrown off her guard.  “A pretty question for you to ask of me!  Oh, yes!  You can get such prices if you can, but I never pay them to people like you.  When I pay seventy-five cents or a dollar apiece for shirts, I go to regular shirt-makers.  But this is what we generally get for trying to encourage the poor.  Mrs. Brandon said that you were in needy circumstances, and that it would be a charity to give you work.  But this is the way it generally turns out.”

“What are you willing to pay?” asked the poor woman, choking down her feelings.

“I have had shirts as well made as these for forty cents many and many a time.  There is a poor woman down in Southwark, who sews beautifully, who would have caught at the job.  She works for the shops, and does not get over twenty-five cents for fine shirts.  But as Mrs. Brandon said you were suffering for work, I thought I would throw something in your way.  Forty cents is an abundance; but I had made up my mind, under the circumstances, to make it fifty, and that is all I will give.  So here is your money—­three dollars.”

And Mrs. Lander took out her purse, and counted out six half dollars upon the table.  Only for a few moments did the poor woman hesitate.  Bread she must have for her children; and if her clothes were not taken out of pawn on that day, they would be lost.  Slowly did she take up the money while words of stinging rebuke were on her tongue.  But she forced herself to keep silence; and even departed, bearing the wrong that had been laid upon her without uttering a word.

“Did you get my shoes as you promised, mother?” eagerly inquired her little boy, as she came in, on returning from the house of Mrs. Lander.

“No, dear,” replied the heart-full mother, in a subdued voice.  “I didn’t get as much money as I expected.”

“When will you buy them, mother?” asked the child as tears filled his eyes.  “I can’t go to school in this way.”  And he looked down at his bare feet.