Small as was the remuneration which Mrs. Codman received for sewing, she hoped, by great economy, to get along with the money which she already had on hand. But troubles never come singly, and of this she was destined to feel the full significance.

One morning she made up a bundle of completed work, and proceeded with it to the ready-made clothing store of Messrs. Sharp & Keene, her employers. It was a trial to one reared as Mrs. Codman had been, to come into contact with men who did not think it necessary to hide their native coarseness from one who made shirts for them at twenty cents apiece.

On the present occasion she was kept[119] waiting for some time, before her presence appeared to be noticed. At length, Sharp nodded to her from the desk.

"Ahem! Mrs. Wiggins," commenced Sharp.

"Codman, sir," corrected the one addressed.

"Well, the name don't signify, I suppose. How many shirts have you got there?"

"Half a dozen, sir."

"Half a dozen at twenty cents apiece make a dollar and twenty cents. Present this card at the other desk, and you will be paid."

He scratched on a card "6 shirts—$1.20," and handed to her, at the same time calling, in a loud voice, "Here, Thomas, pay Mrs. Wigman a dollar and twenty cents."

"Codman, sir."

"It seems to me you are mighty particular about your name."

"Shall I have more work?" asked Mrs. Codman, with some anxiety.

"Well, not at present. Business is dull just now. Nothing doing, and won't be for some time to come."

"How long before you can probably give[120] me something to do?" inquired Mrs. Codman, apprehensively.

"Can't say," was the careless reply. "It may be a month, or six weeks. You can call round in four or five weeks."

"What am I to do between now and then?" thought the poor woman, her heart sinking.

She must get something to do. She could not live otherwise, more especially since the rise in the rent, and her resources had been so largely diminished by the withdrawal of Charlie's services.

She applied at several other shops which she passed on the way home, but found, in every case, that they were already overrun with applications, and in the slack of business would be compelled to discharge some of those at present employed.

But the hour is the darkest that's just before day, and when fortune has done its worst, oftentimes the tide turns, and affairs improve.

So it proved with Mrs. Codman.

On reaching home, not a little depressed at[121] the idea of remaining inactive, when she stood so much in need of the proceeds of her labor, Mrs. Codman had scarcely removed her bonnet and shawl, when she heard a knock at her door.

In answer to her "Come in," the door opened, and the washer-woman, who roomed just above, entered.

"How do you do, Mrs. O'Grady?" said Mrs. Codman.

"I am very well, Miss Codman, and I hope it's the same wid yerself. Have you heard anything of the swate boy that was lost?"

"Nothing," was the sad reply.

"Cheer up, then, Miss Codman. He'll be coming back bimeby, wid his pockets full of gold, so that you won't have to work any more."

"I am afraid that I shall not be able to work any more at present," returned Mrs. Codman.

"And what for not? Is it sick that ye are?"