“I’ve no time to attend to you now, woman,” he answered, gruffly, and the half-frightened creature shrunk away quickly, and again stood far back in the store.

It was full half an hour after this before the shop was cleared, and then the tailor, instead of coming back to where Mrs. Gaston stood, commenced folding up and replacing his goods upon the shelves.  Fearful lest other customers would enter, the seamstress came slowly forward, and again stood near Berlaps.

“What do you want here to-night, woman?” asked the tailor, without lifting his eyes from the employment in which he was engaged.

“I brought home the other pair of trowsers this morning, but you were not in,” Mrs. Gaston replied.

“Well?”

“Michael couldn’t pay me, and so I’ve run up this evening.”

“You’re a very troublesome kind of a person,” said Berlaps, looking her rebukingly in the face.  Then taking a dollar and five cents from the drawer, he pushed them toward her on the counter, adding, as he did so, “There, take your money.  One would think you were actually starving.”

Mrs. Gaston picked up the coin eagerly, and hurried away.  It was more than an hour since she had left home.  Her children were alone, and the night had closed in some time before.  The thought of this made her quicken her pace to a run.  As she passed on, the sight of an orange in a window reminded her of her promise to Ella.  She stopped and bought a small one, and then hurried again on her way.

“Here’s half a dollar of what I owe you, Mrs. Grubb,” said she, as she stepped into the shop of that personage, and threw the coin she named upon the counter.  “And now give me a loaf of bread, quickly; some molasses in this cup, and a pint of milk in this,” drawing two little mugs from under her shawl as she spoke.

The articles she mentioned were soon ready for her.  She had paid for them, and was about stepping from the door, when she paused, and, turning about, said: 

“Oh, I had like to have forgotten!  I want two cent candles.  I shall have to work late to-night.”

The candles were cut from a large bunch hanging above the narrow counter, wrapped in a very small bit of paper, and given to Mrs. Gaston, who took them and went quickly away.

All was dark and still in the room that contained her children, as she gained the house that sheltered them.  She lit one of her candles below, and went up-stairs.  As she entered, Ella’s bright eyes glistened upon her from the bed; but little Emma had fallen asleep with her head in the lap of Henry, who was seated upon the floor with his back against the wall, himself likewise locked in the arms of forgetfulness.  The fire had nearly gone out, and the room was quite cold.

“Oh, mother, why did yon stay so long?” Ella asked, looking her earnestly in the face.

“I couldn’t get back any sooner, my dear.  But see!  I’ve brought the orange you have wished for so long.  You can eat it all by yourself, for Emma is fast asleep on the floor, and can’t cry for it.”