She entered the large door, and advanced to the counter behind which
stood a clerk with a pen behind his ear.
"How many?" he said, as she laid the bundle upon the counter.
"Six."
"Name?"
"Hoffman."
"Correct. I will look at them."
He opened the bundle hastily, and surveyed the work critically. Luckily
there was no fault to find, for Mrs. Hoffman was a skillful seamstress.
"They will do," he said, and, taking from a drawer the stipulated sum,
paid for them.
"Can I have some more?" asked Mrs. Hoffman, anxiously.
"Not to-day. We're overstocked with goods made up. We must contract our
manufacture."
This was unexpected, and carried dismay to the heart of the poor woman.
What she could earn was very little but it was important to her.
"When do you think you can give me some more work?" she asked.
"It may be a month or six weeks," he answered, carelessly.
A month or six weeks! To have her supply of work cut off for so long a
time would, indeed, be a dire misfortune. But there was nothing to say.
Mrs. Hoffman knew very well that no one in the establishment cared for
her necessities. So, with a heavy heart, she started for home, making up
her mind to look elsewhere for work in the afternoon. She could not help
recalling, with sorrow, the time when her husband was living, and they
lived in a pleasant little home, before the shadow of bereavement and
pecuniary anxiety had come to cloud their happiness.
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