Next morning her efforts were begun. It rained, and she began to understand what it means to the unemployed to tramp a city where two days of every four are wet.

To buy papers, and examine them at home was out of the question; but she was aware that there were news-rooms where for a penny she could see them all. Directed to such an institution by a speckled boy, conspicuous for his hat and ears, she found several dejected-looking women turning over a heap of periodicals at a table. The "dailies" were spread on stands against the walls, and at a smaller table under the window lay a number of slips, with pens and ink, for the convenience of customers wishing to make memoranda of the vacant situations. She went first to The Times, because it was on the stand nearest to her, and proceeded from one paper to another until she had made a tour of the lot.

The "Wanted" columns were of the customary order; the needy endeavouring to gull the necessitous with speqious phrases, and the well-established prepared to sweat them without any disguise at all. A drapery house had a vacancy for a young woman "to dress fancy windows, and able to trim hats, etc., when desired"—salary fifteen pounds. There was a person seeking a general servant willing to pay twenty pounds a year for the privilege of doing the work. This advertisement was headed "Home offered to a Lady," and a few seconds were required to grasp the stupendous impudence of it. A side-street stationer, in want of a sales-woman, advertised for an "Apprentice at a moderate premium"; and the usual percentage of City firms dangled the decaying bait of "An opportunity to learn the trade." Her knowledge of the glut of experienced actresses enabled her to smile at the bogus theatrical managers who had "immediate salaried engagements waiting for amateurs of good appearance"; but some of the "home employment" swindles took her in, and, discovering nothing better, she jotted these addresses down.

From the news-room she went to a dairy, and dined on a glass of milk and a bun. And after an inevitable outlay on stamps and stationery, she returned to the lodging a shilling poorer than she had gone out.

Unacquainted with the wiles of the impostors she was answering, the thought of her applications sustained her somewhat; it seemed to her that out of the several openings one at least should be practicable. She did not fail to make the calculation that most novices make in such circumstances; she reduced the promised earnings by half, and believed that she was viewing the prospect in a sober light which, if mistaken at all, erred on the side of pessimism.

The envelopes that she had enclosed came back to her late the following afternoon; and the circulars varied mainly in colour and in the prices of the materials that they offered for sale. In all particulars essential to prove them frauds to everybody excepting the piteous fools who must exist, to explain the advertisements\' longevity, they were the same.

With the extinction of the hope, the darkness of her outlook was intensified, and henceforth she eschewed the offers of "liberal incomes" and confined her attention to the illiberal wages. Day after day she resorted to the news-room—one stray more whom the proprietor saw regularly—resolved not to relinquish her access to the papers while a coin remained to her to pay for admission. She wrote many letters, and spent her evenings vainly listening for the postman\'s knock. She attributed her repeated failures to there being no mention of references in her replies; they were so concise and nicely written that she felt sure they could not have failed from any other reason. Probably her nicely-written notes were never read: merely tossed with scores of others, all unopened, into the wastepaper basket, after a selection had been made from the top thirty. This is the fate of most of the nicely-written notes that go in reply to advertisements in the newspapers; only, the people who compose them and post them with little prayers, fortunately do not suspect it. If they suspected it, they would lose the twenty-four hours\' comfort of hugging a false hope to their souls; and an oasis of hope may be a desirable thing at the cost of a postage-stamp.

One evening an answer did come, and an answer in connection with a really beautiful "Wanted." When it was handed to her, she hardly dared to hope that it related to that particular situation at all. The advertisement had run:

"Secretary required by a Literary Lady. Must be sociable, and have no objection to travel on the Continent. Apply in own handwriting to C.B., care of Messrs. Furnival," etc.

The signature, however, was not "C.B.\'s." The communication was from Messrs. Furnival. They wrote that they judged by Miss Brettan\'s application that she would suit their client; and that on receipt of a half-crown—their usual booking fee—they would forward the lady\'s address.

If she had had a half-crown to send, she might have sent it; as it was, instead of remitting to Messrs. Furnival\'s office, she called there.

It proved to be a very small and very dark back room on the ground-floor, and Messrs. Furnival were represented by a stout gentleman of shabby apparel and mellifluous manner. Mary began by saying that she was the applicant who had received his letter about "C.B.\'s" advertisement; but as this announcement did not seem sufficiently definite to enable the stout gentleman to converse on the subject with fluency and freedom, she added that "C.B." was a literary lady who stood in need of a secretary.

On this he became very vivacious indeed. He told her that her chance of securing the post was an excellent one. No, it was not a certainty, as she appeared to have understood, but he did not think she had much occasion for misgiving; her speed in shorthand was in excess of the rate for which their client had stipulated.

She said: "Why, I especially stated that if she wanted someone who knew shorthand, I should be no use!"

He said: "So you did! I meant to say, your type-writing was your recommendation."

"Mr. Furnival," she exclaimed, "I wrote, \'I do not know shorthand, and I am not a typist\'! You must be confusing me with someone else. Perhaps you have answered another application as well?"

Perhaps he had.

"You\'re my first experience of an applicant for a secretaryship who hasn\'t learnt shorthand or type-writing," he said in an injured tone. "Of course, if you don\'t know either, you\'d be no good at all—not a bit."

"Then," she said, "why did you ask me to send you half a crown?"

Before he could spare time to enlighten her as to his reason for this line of action, they were interrupted by an urchin who deposited an armful of letters on the table. The gentleman seemed pleased to see them, and she came away wondering how many of the women who Messrs. Furnival "judged would suit their client" enclosed postal-orders to pay the "fee."

Quite ineffectually she visited some legitimate agencies, and once she walked to Battersea in time to learn that the berth that was the object of her journey had just been filled. Even when one walks to Battersea, and dines for twopence, however, the staying-powers of two-and-ninepence are very limited; and the dawning of the dreaded date for the bill found her capital exhausted.

Among her scanty possessions, the only article that she could suggest converting into money was a silver watch that she wore attached to a guard. It had belonged to her as a girl; she had worn it as a nurse; it had travelled with her on tour during her life with Carew. What a pawnbroker would lend her on it she did not know, but she supposed a sovereign. Had she been better off, she would have supposed two sovereigns, for she was as ignorant of its value as of the method of pledging it; but being destitute, a pound looked to her a very substantial amount. She made her way heavily into the street. She felt that her errand was printed on her face, and when she reached and paused beneath the sign of the three balls, all the passers-by seemed to be watching her.

The window offered a pretext for hesitation. She stood inspecting the collection behind the glass; perhaps anyone who saw her go in might imagine it was with the intention of buying something! She was nerving herself to the necessary pitch when, giving a final glance over her shoulder, she saw a bystander looking at her steadily. Her courage took flight, and she sauntered on, deciding to explore for a shop in a more secluded position.

Though she was ashamed of her retreat, the respite was a relief to her. It was not until she came to three more balls that she perceived that the longer she delayed, the worse she would feel. She went hurriedly in. There was a row of narrow doors extending down a passage, and, pulling one open, she found the tiny compartment occupied by a woman and a bundle. Starting back, she adventured the next partition, which proved to be vacant; and standing away from the counter, lest her profile should be detected by her neighbour in distress, she waited for someone to come to her.

Nobody taking any notice, she rapped to attract attention. A young man lounged along, and she put the watch down.

"How much?" he said.

"A pound."

He caught it up and withdrew, conveying the impression that he thought very little of it. She thought very little of it herself directly it was in his hand. His hand was a masterpiece of expression, whereas his voice never wavered from two notes.

"Ten shillings," he said, reappearing.

"Ten shillings is very little," she murmured. "Surely it\'s worth more than that?"

"Going to take it?"

He slid the watch across to her.

"Thank you," she said; "yes."

A doubt whether it would be sufficient crept over her the instant she had agreed, and she wished she had declined the offer. To call him back, however, was beyond her; and when he returned it was with the ticket.

"Name and address?"

New to the requirements of a pawnbroker, she stammered the true one, convinced that the woman with the bundle would overhear and remember. Even then she was dismayed to find the transaction wasn\'t concluded; he asked her for a halfpenny, and, with the blood in her face, she signified that she had no change. At last though, she was free to depart, with a handful of silver and coppers; and guiltily transferring the money to her purse when the shop was well behind, she reverted to routine.

It was striking five when she mounted to the attic, and she saw that Mrs. Shuttleworth, with the punctuality peculiar to cheap landladies when the lodger is out, had already brought up the tray. On the plate was her bill; she snatched at it anxiously, and was relieved to find it ran thus:
    s.    d.
Bred    1    2
Butter....        10
Milk        3    1/2
Tea        6
Oil        2
Shuger....        2    1/2
To room til next Wensday    5    0
    8    2

So far, then, she had been equal to emergencies, and another week\'s shelter was assured. The garret began to assume almost an air of comfort, refined by her terror of losing it. When she reflected that the week divided her from actual starvation, she cried that she must find something to do—she must! Then she realised that she could find it no more easily because it was a case of "must" than if it had been simply expedient, and the futility of the feminine "must," when she was already doing all she could do, served to accentuate her helplessness. She prayed passionately, without being able to feel much confidence in the efficacy of prayer, and told herself that she did not deserve that God should listen to her, because she was guilty, and sinful, and bad. She did not seek consolation in repeating that it was always darkest before dawn, nor strive to fortify herself with any other of the aphorisms belonging to the vocabulary of sorrow for other people. The position being her own, she looked it straight in the eyes, and admitted that the chances were in favour of her being very shortly without a bed to lie on.

Each night she came a few pence nearer to the end; each night now she sat staring from the window, imagining the sensations of wandering homeless. And at last the day broke—a sunless and chilly day—when she rose and went out possessed of one penny, without any means of adding to it. This penny might be reserved to diminish the hunger that would seize her presently, or she might give herself a final chance among the newspapers. Having breakfasted, she decided on the final chance.

As she turned the pages her hands trembled, and for a second the paragraphs swam together. The next instant, standing out clearly from the sea of print, she saw an advertisement like the smile of a friend:

"Useful Companion wanted to elderly lady; one with some experience of invalids preferred. Apply personally, between 3 and 5, \'Trebartha,\' N. Finchley."

If it had been framed for her, it could hardly have suited her better. The wish for personal application was itself an advantage, for in conversation, she felt, the obstacle of having no references could be surmounted with far less trouble than by letter. A string of frank allusions to the difficulty, a dozen easy phrases, leapt into her mind, so that, in fancy, the interview was already in progress, and terminating with pleasant words in the haven of engagement.

She searched no further, and it was not till she was leaving that she remembered the miles that she would have to walk. To start so early, however, would be useless, so on second thoughts she determined to pass the morning where she was.

She was surprised to discover that she was not singular in this decision, and she wondered if all; the clients that stayed so long had anywhere else to go. Many of them never turned a leaf, but sat at the table dreamily eyeing a journal; as if they had forgotten that it was there. She; watched the people coming in, noting the unanimity with which they made for the advertisement-sheets first, and speculating as to the nature of the work they sought.

There was a woman garbed in black, downcast and precise; she was a governess, manifestly. Once, when she had been young, and insolent with the courage of youth, she would have mocked a portrait looking as she looked now; there was little enough mockery left in her this morning. She quitted the "dailies" unrewarded, and proceeded to the table, her thin-lipped mouth set a trifle harder than before. A girl with magenta feathers in her hat bounced in, tracing her way down the columns with a heavy fore-finger, and departing nonchalantly with a blotted list. This was a domestic servant, Mary understood. A shabby man of sinister expression covered an area of possibilities: a broken-down tutor perhaps, a professional man gone to the bad. He looked like Mephistopheles in the prompter\'s clothes, she thought, contemplating him with languid curiosity. The reflections flitted across the central idea while she sat nervously waiting for the hours to pass, and when she considered it was time at last, she asked the newsagent in which direction Finchley lay. She omitted to mention that she had to walk there, but she obtained sufficient information about a tram-route to guide her up to Hampstead Heath, where of course she could inquire again.

The sun gave no promise of shining, and a bleak wind, tossing the rubbish of the gutters into little whirlpools, made pedestrianism exceedingly unpleasant. She was dismayed to find on how long a journey she was bound; she arrived at the tram-terminus already tired, and then learnt that she was not half-way to Finchley. It was nothing but a name to her, and steadily trudging along a road that extended itself before her eternally she began to fear that she would never reach her goal at all. To add to the discomfort, it was snowing slightly now, and she grew less sanguine with every hundred yards. The vision of the smiling lady, the buoyancy of her own glib sentences, faded from her, and the thought of the utter abjectness that would come of refusal made the salvation of acceptance appear much too wonderful to occur.

When she reached it, "Trebartha" proved to be a stunted villa in red brick. It was one of a row, each of the other stunted villas being similarly endowed with a name befitting, a domain; and suspense catching discouragement from the most extraneous details, Mary\'s heart sank as the housemaid disclosed the badly-lighted passage.

She was ushered into the sitting-room; and the woman who entered presently had been suggested by it. She seemed the natural complement of the haggard prints, of the four cumbersome chairs in a line against the wall, of the family Bible on the crochet tablecover. She wore silk, dark and short—plain, except for three narrow bands of velvet at the hem. She wore a gold watch-chain hanging round her neck, garlanded over her portly bosom. She said she was the invalid lady\'s married daughter, and her tone implied a consciousness of that higher merit which the woman whose father has left her comfortably off feels over the woman whose father hasn\'t.

"You\'ve called about my mother\'s advertisement for a companion?" she said.

"Yes; I\'ve had a long experience of nursing. I think I should be able to do all you require."

"Have you ever lived as companion?"

"No," said Mary, "I have never done that, but—but I think I\'m companionable; I don\'t think I\'m difficult to get on with."

"What was your—won\'t you sit down?—what was your last place?"

Mary moistened her lips.

"I am," she said, "rather awkwardly situated. I may as well tell you at once that I am a stranger here, and—do you know—I find that\'s a great bar in the way of my getting employment? Not being known, I\'ve, of course, no friends I can refer people to, and—well, people always seem to think the fact of being a stranger in a city is rather a discreditable thing. I have found that! They do." She looked for a gleam of response in the stolid countenance, but it was as void of expression as the furniture. "As I say, I have had a lengthy experience of nursing; I—it sounds conceited—but I should be exceedingly useful. It\'s just the thing I am fitted for."

The married daughter asked: "You have been a nurse, you say? But not here?"

"Not here," said Mary, "no. Of course, that doesn\'t detract from——"

"Oh, quite so. We\'ve had several young women here already to-day. Do I understand you to mean there is nobody at all you can give as a reference?"

"Yes, that unfortunately is so. I do hope you don\'t consider it an insuperable difficulty? You know you take servants without \'characters\' sometimes when——"

"I never take a servant without a \'character.\' I have never done such a thing in my life."

"I did not mean you personally," said Mary, with hasty deprecation; "I was speaking——"

"I\'m most particular on the point; my mother is most particular, too."

"Generally speaking. I meant people do take servants without \'characters\' occasionally when they are hard pushed."

"Our own servants are only too wishful to remain with us. My mother has had her present cook eight years, and the last one was only induced to leave because a young man—a young man in quite a fair way of business—made her an offer of marriage. She had been here even longer than eight years—twelve I think it was, or thirteen. It was believed at the time that what first attracted the young man\'s attention to her was the many years that my mother had retained her in our household. I\'m sure there are no circumstances under which my mother \'d consent to receive a young person who could give no proof of her trustworthiness and good conduct."

"Do you mean that you can\'t engage me? It—it\'s a matter of life and death to me," exclaimed Mary; "pray let me see the lady!"

"Your manner," said the married daughter, "is strange. Quite authoritative for your position!" She rose. "You\'ll find it helpful to be less haughty when you speak, less opinionated; your manner is very much against you. Oh, my word! no violence, if you please, miss!"

"Violence?" gasped Mary; "I\'m not violent. It was my last hope, that\'s all, and it\'s over. I wish you good-day."

So much had happened in a few minutes—inside and out—that the roads were whitening rapidly and the flutter of snow had developed into a steady fall. At first she was scarcely sensible of it; the anger in her heart kept the cold out, and carried her along in a semi-rush. Words broke from her breathlessly. She felt that she had fallen from a high estate; that the independence of her life with Carew had been a period of dignity and power; that erstwhile she could have awed the dull-witted philistine who had humbled her. "The hateful woman! Oh, the wretch! To have to sue to a creature like that!" Well, she would starve now, she supposed, her excitement spending itself. She would die of starvation, like characters in fiction, or the people one read of in the newspapers; the newspapers called it "exposure," but it was the same thing; "exposure" sounded less offensive to the other people who read about it, that was all. The force of education is so strong that, much as she insisted on such a death, and close as she had approached to it, she was unable to realise its happening to her. She told herself that it must; the world was of a sudden horribly wide and empty; but for Mary Brettan actually to die like that had an air of exaggeration about it still. Pushing forward, she pondered on it, and the fact came close; the sensation of the world\'s widening about her grew stronger. She felt alone in the midst of illimitable space. There seemed nothing around her, nothing tangible, nothing to catch at. O God! how tired she was! she couldn\'t go on much further.

The snow whirled against her in gusts, clinging to her hair, and filling her eyes and nostrils. Exhaustion was overpowering her. And still how many miles? Each of the benches that she passed was a fresh temptation; and at last she dropped on one, too tired to stand, wet and shivering, and shielding her face from the storm.

She dropped on it like any tramp or stray. Having held out to the uttermost, she did not know whether she would ever get up again—did not think about it, and did not care. Her limbs ached for relief, and she seized it on the high-road because relief on the high-road was the only kind attainable.

And it was while she cowered there that another figure appeared in the twilight, the figure of a tall old man carrying a black bag. He came smartly down a footpath, gazing to right and left as for something that should be waiting for him. Not seeing it, he whistled, and Mary looked up. A trap was backed from the corner of the road. Then the man with the bag stared at her, and after an instant of hesitation, he spoke.

"It\'s a dirty nicht," he said, "for ye tae be sittin\' there. I\'m thinking ye\'re no\' weel?"

"Not very," she said.

He inspected her undecidedly.

"An\' ye\'ll tak\' your death o\' cold if ye dinna get up, it\'s verra certain. Hoots! ye\'re shakin\' wi\' it noo! Bide a wee, an\' I\'ll put some warmth intae ye, young leddy."

Without any more ado, he deposited the bag at her side and opened it. And, astonishing to relate, the black bag was fitted with a number of little bottles, one of which he extracted, with a glass.

"Is it medicine?" she asked wonderingly.

"Medicine?" he echoed; "nae, it\'s nae medicine; it\'s \'Four Diamonds S.O.P.\' I\'m gi\'en ye. It\'s a braw sample o\' Pilcher\'s S.O.P., ma lassie; nothin\' finer in the trade, on the honour o\' Macpheerson! Noo ye drink that doon; it\'s speerit, an\' it\'ll dae ye guid."

She took his advice, gulping the spirit while he watched her approvingly. Its strength diffused itself through her in ripples of heat, raising her courage, and yet, oddly enough, making her want to cry.

Mr. Macpherson contemplated the little bottle solemnly, shaking his head at it with something that sounded like a sigh.

"An\' whaur may ye be goin\'?" he queried, replacing the cork.

"I am going to town," she answered. "I was walking home, only the storm——"

"Tae toon? Will ye no\' ha\'e a lift along o\' me an\' the lad? I\'ll drive ye intae toon."

"Have you to go there?" she asked, over-joyed.

"There\'d be th\' de\'il tae pay if I stayed awa\'. Ay, I ha\'e tae gang there, and as fast as the mare can trot. Will ye let me help ye in?"

"Yes," she said; "thank you very much."

He hoisted her up. And she and her strange companion, accompanied by an urchin who never uttered a word, made a brisk start.

"I am so much obliged to you," she murmured, rejoicing; "you don\'t know!"

"There\'s nae call for ony obleegation; it\'s verra welcome ye are. I\'m thinkin\' the sample did ye a lot o\' guid, eh?"

"It did indeed; it has made me feel a different woman."

"Eh, but it\'s a gran\' speerit!" said the old gentleman with reviving ardour. "There\'s nae need to speak for it, an\' that\'s a fact; your ain tongue sings its perfection to ye as ye sup it doon. Ye may get ither houses to serve ye cheaper, I\'m no\' denyin\' that; but tae them that can place the rale article there\'s nae house like Pilcher\'s. And Pilcher\'s best canna be beaten in the trade. I ha\'e nae interest tae lie tae ye, ye ken; nor could I tak\' ye in wi\' the wines and speerits had I the mind. There\'s the advantage wi\' the wines and speerits; ye canna deceive! Ye ha\'e the sample, an\' ye ha\'e the figure—will I book the order or will I no\'?"

"It\'s your business then, Mr.——?"

"Will ye no\' tak\' my card?" he said, producing a large one; "there, put it awa\'. Should ye ever be in need, ma lassie, a line to Macpheerson, care o\' the firm——"

"How kind of you!" she exclaimed.

"No\' a bit," he said; "ye never can tell what may happen, and whether it\'s for yoursel\' ye need it, or a recommendation, ye\'ll ken ye\'re buying at the wholesale price."

She glanced at him with surprise, and looked away again. And they drove for several minutes in silence.

"Maybe ye ken some family whaur I\'d be likely tae book an order noo?" remarked Mr. Macpherson incidentally. "Sherry? dae ye no\' ken o\' a family requirin\' sherry? I can dae them sherry at a figure that\'ll tak\' th\' breath frae them. Ye canna suspect the profit—th\' weecked ineequitous profit—that sherry\'s retailed at; wi\' three quotations tae the brand often eno\', an\' a made-up wine at that! Noo, I could supply your frien\'s wi\' \'Crossbones\'—the finest in the trade, on the honour of Macpheerson—if ye happen tae ha\'e ony who——"

"I don\'t," she said, "happen to have any."

"There\'s the family whaur ye\'re workin\', we\'ll say; a large family maybe, wi\' a cellar. For a large family tae be supplied at the wholesale figure——"

"I am sorry, but I don\'t work."

"Ye don\'t work, an\' ye ha\'e no frien\'s?" He peered at her curiously. "Then, ma dear young leddy, ye\'ll no\' think me impertinent if I ax ye how th\' de\'il ye live?"

The wild idea shot into her brain that perhaps he might be able to put her into the way of something—somewhere—somehow!

"I\'m a stranger in London," she answered, "looking for employment—quite alone."

"Eh," said Mr. Macpherson, "that\'s bad, that\'s verra bad!"

He whipped up the horse, and after the momentary comment lapsed into reverie. She called herself a fool for her pains, and stared dumbly across the melancholy fields.

"Whauraboots are ye stayin\'?" he demanded, after they had passed the Swiss Cottage.

She told him. "Please don\'t let me take you out of your way," she added.

"Ye\'re no\' verra far frae ma ain house," he declared. "Ye had best come in an\' warm before ye gang on hame. Ye are in nae hurry, I suppose?"

"No, but——"

"Oh, the mistress will nae mind it. Ye just come in wi\' me!"

Their conversation progressed by fits and starts till his domicile was reached. Leaving the trap to the care of the boy, who might have been a mute for any indication he had given to the contrary, Mr. Macpherson led her into a parlour, where a kettle steamed invitingly on the hob.

He was greeted by a little woman, evidently the wife referred to; and a rosy offspring, addressed as Charlotte, brought her progenitor a pair of slippers. His introduction of Mary to his family circle was brief.

"\'Tis a young leddy," he said, "I gave a lift to. But I dinna ken your name?"

"My name is Brettan," she replied. Then, turning to the woman: "Your husband was kind enough to save me from walking home from Finchley, and now he has made me come in with him."

"It was a braw nicht for a walk," opined Macpherson.

"I\'m sure I\'m glad to see you, miss," responded the woman in cheery Cockney. "Come to the fire and dry yourself a bit, do!"

The initial awkwardness was very slight, for Mary\'s experiences in bohemia were serviceable here. The people were well-intentioned, too, and, meeting with no embarrassment to hamper their heartiness, they grew speedily at ease. It reminded the guest of some of her arrivals on tour; of one in particular, when the previous week\'s company had not left and she and Tony had traversed half Oldham in search of rooms, finally sitting down with their preserver to bread-and-cheese in her kitchen! It was loathsome how Tony kept recurring to her, and always in episodes when he had been jolly and affectionate!

"Your husband tells me he is in the wine business," she observed at the tea-table.

"He is, miss; and never you marry a man who travels in that line," returned the woman, "or the best part of your life you won\'t know for rights if you\'re married or not!"

"He\'s away a good deal, you mean?"

"Away? He\'s just home about two months in the year—a fortnight at the time, that\'s what he is! All the rest of it traipsing about from place to place like a wandering gipsy. Charlotte says time and again, \'Ma, have I got a pa, or \'aven\'t I?\'—don\'t yer, Charlotte?"

"Pa\'s awful!" said Charlotte, with her mouth full of bread-and-marmalade. "Never mind, pa, you can\'t help it!"

"Eh, it\'s a sad pursuit!" rejoined her father gloomily. In the glow of his own fireside Mary perceived with surprise that his enthusiasm for "his wines and speerits" had vanished. "Awa\' frae your wife an\' bairn, pandering tae th\' veecious courses that ruin the immortal soul! Every heart kens its ain bitterness, young leddy; and Providence in its mysteerious wisdom never meant me for the wine-and-speerit trade."

"Oh lor," said Charlotte, "ma\'s done it!"

"It was na your mither," said Mr. Macpherson; "it\'s ma ain conscience, as well ye ken! Dae I no\' see the travellers themselves succumb tae th\' cussed sippin\' and tastin\' frae mornin\' till nicht? There was Burbage, I mind weel, and there was Broun; guid men both—no better men on th\' road! Whaur\'s Burbage noo—whaur\'s Broun?"

"Fly away, Peter, fly away, Paul!" interpolated Charlotte.

"Gone!" continued Mr. Macpherson, responding to his own inquiry with morbid unction. "Deed! The Lord be praised, I ha\'e the guid sense tae withstand th\' infeernal tipplin\' masel\'. Mony\'s the time, when I\'m talkin\' tae a mon in the way o\' business, ye ken, I turn the damned glass upside down when he is na lookin\'. But there\'s the folk I sell tae, an\' the ithers; what o\' them? It\'s ma trade to praise the evil—tae tak\' it into the world, spreadin\' it broadcast for the destruction o\' monkind. Eh, ma responsibeelity is awfu\' tae contemplate."

"I\'m sure, James, you mean first class," said the little woman weakly. "Come, light your pipe comfortable, now, and don\'t worrit, there\'s a good man!"

The traveller waved the pipe aside.

"There\'s a still sma\' voice," he said, "ye canna silence wi\' \'bacca; ye canna silence it wi\' herbs nor wi\' fine linen. It\'s wi\' me noo, axin\' queestions. It says: \'Macpheerson, how dae ye justeefy thy wilfu\' conduct? Why dae ye gloreefy the profeets o\' th\' airth above thy speeritual salvation, mon? Dae ye no ken that orphans are goin\' dinnerless through thy eloquence, an\' widows are prodigal wi\' curses on a\' thy samples an\' thy ways?\' I canna answer. There are nichts when the voice will na let me sleep, ye\'re weel aware; there are nichts——"

"There are nights when you\'re most trying, James, I know."

"Woman, it\'s the warnin\' voice that comes tae a sinner in his transgreession! Are there no\' viseetations eno\' about me, an\' dae I no\' turn ma een frae them; hardenin\' ma heart, and pursuin\' ma praise o\' Pilcher\'s wi\' a siller tongue? There was a mon are day at the Peacock—a mon in ma ain inseedious line—an\' he swilled his bottle o\' sherry, an\' he called for his whusky-an\'-watter, and he got up on his feet speechify in\', after the commercial dinner. \'The Queen, gentlemen!\' he cries, liftin\' his glass; an\' wi\' that he dropped deed, wi\' the name o\' the royal leddy on his lips! He was a large red mon—he would ha\' made twa o\' me."

He seemed to regard the circumference of the deceased as additionally ominous. His arms were extended in representation of it, and he waved them aloft as if to intimate that Charlotte might detect Nemesis in the vicinity preparing for a swoop.

"You take the thing too seriously," said Mary. "Nine people out of ten have to be what they can, you know; it is only the tenth who can be what he likes."

The little woman inquired what her own calling was.

"I am very sorry to say I haven\'t any," she answered. "I\'m doing nothing."

There was a moment\'s constraint.

"Unfortunately I know nobody here," she went on; "it\'s very hard to get anything when there\'s no one to speak for you."

"It must be! But, lor! you must bear up. It\'s a long lane that has no turning, as they say."

"Only there is no telling where the turning may lead; a lane is better than a bog."

"Wouldn\'t she do for Pattenden\'s?" suggested the woman musingly.

"For whom?" exclaimed Mary. "Do you think I can get something? Who are they?"

"James?"

"Pattenden\'s?" he repeated. "An\' what; would she dae at Pattenden\'s?"

"Why, be agent, to be sure—same as you were!"

Mary glanced from one to the other with; anxiety.

"Weel, noo, that isn\'t at a\' a bad idea," said Mr. Macpherson meditatively; "dae ye fancy ye could sell books, young leddy, on commeession—a hauf-sovereign, say, for every order ye took? I\'m thinkin\' a young woman micht dae a verra fair trade at it."

"Oh yes," she replied; "I\'m sure I could. Half a sovereign each one? Where do I go? Will they take me?"

"I dinna anteecipate ye\'ll fin\' much deefficulty aboot them takin\' ye: they dinna risk onythin\' by that! I\'ll gi\'e ye the address. They are publishers, and ye just ax for their Mr. Collins when ye go there; tell him ye\'re wishful tae represent them wi\' ane o\' their publeecations. If ye like I\'ll write your name on ane o\' ma ain cards; an\' ye can send it in tae him."

"Oh, do!" she said.

"Ye must na imagine it\'s a fortune ye\'ll be makin\'," he observed; "it\'s different tae ma ain position wi\' the wines an\' speerits, ye ken: wi\' Pilcher\'s it\'s a fixed salary, an\' Pilcher\'s pay ma expenses."

"Pilcher\'s pay our expenses!" affirmed Charlotte the thoughtful.

"They dae," acquiesced the traveller; "there\'s a sicht o\' saving oot o\' sax-and-twenty shillin\'s a day tae an economical parent. But wi\' Pattenden\'s it\'s precarious; are week guid, an\' anither week bad."

"I am not afraid," said Mary boldly; "whatever I do, it is better than nothing! I\'ll go there to-morrow, the first thing. Very many thanks; and to you too, Mrs. Macpherson, for thinking of it."

"I\'m sure I\'m glad I did; there\'s no saying but what you may be doing first-rate after a bit. It\'s a beginning for you, any way."

"That it is! But why can\'t the publishers pay a salary, the same as your husband\'s firm?"

"Ah! they don\'t; anyhow, not at the beginning. Besides, James has been with Pilcher\'s ten years now; he wasn\'t earning so much when he started with them."

"\'Spect one reason is because such a heap more people buy spirits than books!" said Charlotte. "Pa!"

"Eh, ma lassie?"

"The lady\'s going to be an agent——"

"Weel?"

"Then, pa," said Charlotte, "won\'t we all drink to the lady\'s luck in a sample?"

"Ye veecious midget," ejaculated her father wrathfully, "are ye no\' ashamed tae mak\' sic a proposeetion? Ye\'ll no\' drink a sample, will ye, young leddy?"

"I will not indeed!" answered Mary.

"No\' but what ye\'re welcome."

"Thanks," she said; "I will not, really."

"Eh, but ye will, then," he exclaimed; "a sma\' sample, ye an\' Mrs. Macpheerson! Whaur\'s ma bag?"

In spite of her protestations he drew a bottle out, and the hostess produced a couple of glasses from the cupboard.

"Port!" he said. "The de\'il\'s liquors a\' o\' them; but, if there\'s a disteenction, maybe a wee drappie o\' the \'Four Grape Balance\' deserves mon\'s condemnation least." His conflicting emotions delayed the toast for some time. "The de\'il\'s liquors!" he groaned again, fingering the bottle irresolutely. "Eh, but it\'s the \'Four Grape Balance,\'" he murmured with reluctant admiration, eyeing the sample against the light. "There! Ye may baith o\' ye drink it doon! But masel\', I wouldna touch a drap. An\' as for ye, ye wee Cockney bairn, if I catch ye tastin\' onything stronger a than tea in a\' your days, or knowin\' the flavour o\' the perneecious stuff it\'s your affleected father\'s duty tae lure the unsuspeecious minds wi\'—temptin\' the frail tae their eternal ruin, an\' servin\' the de\'il when his sicht is on the Lord—I\'ll leather ye!"

Charlotte giggled nervously—Figaro-wise, that she might not be obliged to weep; and Mrs. Macpherson, raising the glass to her lips, said "Luck!"

"Luck!" they all echoed.

And Mary, conscious that the career would be no heroic one, was also conscious she was not a heroine. "I am," she said to herself, "just a real unhappy woman, in very desperate straits. So let me do whatever turns up, and be profoundly grateful that anything can be done at all."