discontented her when on, and spoilt all else when off.
Mrs. Dodd saw, and said obligingly, "Perhaps
were I to put it on you could judge better."
Mrs. Dodd, you must know, had an admirable
art of putting on a shawl or scarf. With apparent
nonchalance she settled the scarf on her
shapely shoulders so happily, that the fish bit,
and the scarf went into its carriage; forty
guineas, or so. Madame cast a rapid but ardent
glance of gratitude Dodd-wards. The customer
began to go, and after fidgeting to the door and
back for twenty minutes actually went somehow.
Then madame turned round, and said,
"I'm sure, ma'am, I am much obliged to you;
you sold me that scarf: and it is a pity we
couldn't put her on your bust and shoulders,
ma'am, then perhaps a scarf might please her.
What can I do for you, ma'am?"

Mrs. Dodd blushed, and with subdued agitation
told Madame Blanch that this time she was
come not to purchase but to ask a favour.
Misfortune was heavy on her; and, though not
penniless, she was so reduced by her husband's
illness and the loss of £14,000 by shipwreck,
that she must employ what little talents she had
to support her family.

The woman explored her from head to foot to
find the change of fortune in some corner of her
raiment: but her customer was as well, though
plainly, dressed as ever, and still looked an easy-
going duchess.

"Could Madame Blanch find her employment
in her own line? What talent I have," said
Mrs. Dodd humbly, "lies in that way. I could
not cut as well as yourself, of course; but I
think I can as well as some of your people."

"That I'll be bound you can," said Madame
Blanch dryly. "But dear, dear, to think of your
having come down so. Have a glass of wine to
cheer you a bit; do now, that is a good soul."

"Oh no, madam. I thank you; but wine
cannot cheer me: a little bit of good news to
take back to my anxious children, that would
cheer me, madam. Will you be so good?"

The dressmaker coloured and hesitated; she
felt the fascination of Dignity donning Humility,
and speaking Music: but she resisted. "It
won't do, at least here. I shouldn't be mistress
in my own place. I couldn't drive you like I'm
forced to do the rest; and, then, I should be
sure to favour you, being a real lady, which is
my taste, and you always will be, rich or poor;
and then all my ladies would be on the bile with
jealousy."

"Ah, madam," sighed Mrs. Dodd, "you treat
me like a child; you give me sweetmeats, and
refuse me food for my family."

"No, no," said the woman hastily. "I don't
say I mightn't send you out some work to do at
home."

"Oh, thank you, madam." N.B. The dressmaker
had dropped the Madam, so the lady
used it now at every word.

"Now stop a bit," said Madame Blanch. "I
know a firm that's in want. Theirs is easy work
by mine, and they cut up a piece of stuff every
two or three days." She then wrote on one of
her own cards Messrs. Cross, Fitchett, Copland,
and Tylee, 11, 12, 13, and 14, Primrose-lane,
City. "Say I recommend you. To tell the
truth, an old hand of my own was to come here
this very morning about it, but she hasn't kept
her time; so this will learn her business doesn't
stand still for lie-a-beds to catch it."

Mrs. Dodd put the card in her bosom and
pressed the hand extended to her by Madame
Zaire Blanch; whose name was Sally White,
spinster. She went back to her children and
showed them the card, and sank gracefully into
a chair, exhausted as much by the agitation of
asking favours as by the walk. "Cross, Eitchett,
Copland? Why they were in the 'Tiser yesterday,"
said Edward; "look at this; a day lost
by being wiser than the 'Tiser."

"I'll waste no more then," said Mrs. Dodd,
rising quietly from the chair. They begged her
to rest herself first. No, she would not. "I
saw this lost by half an hour," said she.
"Succeed or fail, I will have no remissness to
reproach myself with." And she glided off in her
quiet way, to encounter Cross, Eitchett, Copland,
and Tylee, in the lane where a primrose
was caught growing—six hundred years ago.
She declined Edward's company rather peremptorily.
"Stay and comfort your sister," said
she. But that was a blind; the truth was, she
could not bear her children to mingle in what
she was doing. No, her ambition was to ply
the scissors and thimble vigorously, and so
enable them to be ladies and gentlemen at large.
She being gone, Julia made a parcel of watercolour
drawings, and sallied forth all on fire to
sell them. But, while she was dressing, Edward
started on a cruise in search of employment. He
failed entirely. They met in the evening, Mrs.
Dodd resigned, Edward dogged, Julia rather
excited. "Now let us tell our adventures," she
said. "As for me, shop after shop declined my
poor sketches. They all wanted something
about as good, only a little different: nobody
complained of the grand fault, and that is
their utter badness. At last one old gentleman
examined them, and oh! he was so fat; there,
round. And he twisted his mouth so" (imitating
him) "and squinted into them so: then I was full
of hope; and said to myself, 'Dear mamma and
Edward!' And so, when he ended by saying 'No,'
like all the rest, I burst out crying like a goose."

"My poor girl," cried Mrs. Dodd, with the
tears in her own eyes, "why expose yourself to
these cruel rebuffs?"

"Oh, don't waste your pity, mamma; those
great babyish tears were a happy thought of
mine; he bought two directly to pacify me; and
there's the money. Thirty shillings!" And she
laid it proudly on the table.

"The old cheat," said Edward; "they were
worth two guineas apiece, I know."

"Not they; or why would not anybody else
give twopence for them?"