you, sir;
will you give me a character, Mr. Shaw?"

"You have cheek," said Shaw, in a deliberate voice. "Do you suppose I
am going to recommend a thief?"

"But, oh, sir, oh, Mr. Shaw, you know I am not that!"

"I don't know anything of the kind; I only know that you are a brazen,
unreasonable hussy. You know perfectly well that when you left here
you forfeited your character. Yes, your attitude, let me tell you,
Miss Reed, cuts both ways. If you don't choose to come here until you
are cleared, I don't give you a character until you are cleared. Come,
now, that's a fair bargain, is it not?"

"Oh, sir, it is so hard of you!" said Alison. "Sir, if you would but
be merciful!"

"That's my last word," said Shaw. "I must go back to attend to my
customers."

He left the counting-house abruptly, and Alison did not take long in
following his example.

"It is no good, Grannie," she said, when she entered her little home
half an hour afterward. "Shaw is as hard as a millstone. He won't
give me a character until I am cleared; and, as I never shall be
cleared, why, I'll never get a character, and I cannot get a situation.
What is to become of me, Grannie; oh, Grannie, what is to become of me?"

At these words Alison gave way to the most terrible, overpowering
grief. She did not know how to comfort Grannie, but Grannie knew how
to comfort her. She patted her as if she were a baby; she stroked her
soft hair, and kissed her hot cheeks, and laid her head on her own
little shoulder, and made tea, although the supply in the caddy was
getting very low, and then talked to her as she knew how, and with
wonderful cunning and power of Jim, Jim, Jim.

As Alison loved Jim this subject could not but be of interest to her.

"There's no other way out of it," said Grannie finally. "He is yer
sweetheart, faithful and true--he don't suspect you; he never will
suspect you. You whisper 'yes' to him on Christmas night, dearie, and
don't wait for next Tuesday. It's the right thing to do, it's the only
right thing to do."

CHAPTER IX.

On Christmas Eve, Grannie went out and stayed away for about an hour.
She looked mysterious when she came back. She wore her zebra-pattern
shawl, which was quite bulged out with parcels. These she conveyed
quickly into her bedroom, notwithstanding the devouring eyes which the
children cast upon them.

"Out of that," she said, pushing them all aside; "none of your
curiosity, or you'll ge