, and you take after us. I'll see to it. You
shan't be accused of theft, my dear, ef I can help it."

"But you can't help it, Grannie dear. Whatever you say they won't
believe you. There is a girl I hate at the shop, and only that I know
it is impossible, I could believe that she had a finger in the pie.
Her name is Louisa Clay. She is rather handsome, and at one time we
used to be friends, but ever since Jim and I began to keep company she
has looked very black at me. I think she has a fancy that Jim would
have taken to her but for me; anyhow, I could not help seeing how
delighted she looked when I went out of the shop. Oh, let it be,
Grannie; what is the use of interfering? You may talk yourself hoarse,
but they won't believe you."

"Believe me or not, Mr. Shaw has got to hear what I say," answered the
old woman. "I am not going to see my girl slighted, nor falsely
accused, nor her good name taken from her without interfering. It is
no use talking, Alison; I will have my way in this matter."

Grannie rose from her chair as she spoke. Her cheeks were quite
flushed new, her eyes were almost too bright, and her poor hand ached
and ached persistently. Alison, who had been sitting on the floor
shedding tears now and then, rose slowly, walked to the window, and
looked out. She was feeling half stunned. She was by nature a very
bright, happy girl. Until this moment things had gone well with her in
life. She was clever, and had carried all before her at the Board
school. She was also pretty, and, as Grannie expressed it, "genteel."
She had got a good post in a good shop, and until to-day had been
giving marked satisfaction. Her earnings were of great value to the
little home party, and she was likely before long to have a rise. Mr.
Shaw, the owner of the haberdasher's shop in which she worked, talked
of making Alison his forewoman before long. She had a stylish
appearance. She showed off his mantles and hats to advantage; she had
a good sharp eye for business; she was very civil and obliging; she won
her way with all his customers; there was not a girl in the shop who
could get rid of remnants like Alison; in short, she was worth more
than a five-pound note to him, and when she was suddenly accused of
theft, in his heart of hearts he was extremely sorry to lose her.
Alison was too happy up to the present moment not to do her work
brightly and well.

The foreman in Shaw's shop was a young man of about