That person took the pair of trowsers, glanced at them a moment, and then, tossing them aside, asked Mrs. Gaston if she could make some cloth roundabouts.

“At what price?” was inquired.

“The usual price—­thirty cents.”

“Thirty cents for cloth jackets!  Indeed, Michael, that is too little.  You used to give thirty-seven and a half.”

“Can’t afford to do it now, then.  Thirty cents is enough.  There are plenty of women glad to get them even at that price.”

“But it will take me a full day and a half to make a cloth jacket, Michael.”

“You work slow, that’s the reason; a good sewer can easily make one in a day; and that’s doing pretty well these times.”

“I don’t know what you mean by pretty well, Michael,” answered the seamstress.  “How do you think you could manage to support yourself and three children on less than thirty cents a day?”

“Haven’t you put that oldest boy of yours out yet?” asked Michael, instead of replying to the question of Mrs. Gaston.

“No, I have not.”

“Well, you do very wrong, let me tell you, to slave yourself and pinch your other children for him, when he might be earning his living just as well as not.  He’s plenty old enough to be put out.”

“You may think so, but I don’t.  He is still but a child.”

“A pretty big child, I should say.  But, if you would like to get him a good master, I know a man over in Cambridge who would take him off of your hands.”

“Who is he?”

“He keeps a store, and wants just such a boy to do odd trifles about, and run of errands.  It would be the very dandy for your little follow.  He’ll be in here to-day; and if you say so, I will speak to him about your son.”

“I would rather try and keep him with me this winter.  He is too young to go so far away.  I could not know whether he were well or ill used.”

“Oh, as to that, ma’am, the man I spoke of is a particular friend of mine, and I know him to be as kind-hearted as a woman.  His wife’s amiability and good temper are proverbial.  Do let me speak a good word for your son; I’m sure you will never repent it.”

“I’ll think about it, Michael; but don’t believe I shall feel satisfied to let Henry go anywhere out of Boston, even if I should be forced to get him a place away from home this winter.”

“Well, you can do as you please, Mrs. Gaston,” said Michael in a half offended tone.  “I shall not charge any thing for my advice; But say! do you intend trying some of these jackets?”

“Can’t you give me some more pantaloons?  I can do better on them, I think.”

“We sha’n’t have any more coarse trowsers ready for two or three days.  The jackets are your only chance.”

“If I must, suppose I must, then,” replied Mrs. Gaston to this, in a desponding tone.  “So let me have a couple of them.”

The salesman took from a shelf two dark, heavy cloth jackets, cut out, and tied up in separate bundles with a strip of the fabric from which they had been taken.  As he handed them, to the woman he said—­