began to move up the great thoroughfare, which was just beginning
to wake to its multitudinous activities.

She walked less rapidly now, studying each shop window as she
passed, but not with the desultory eye of enjoyment: the watchful
fixity of her gaze overlooked everything but the object of its
quest. At length she stopped before a small window wedged between
two mammoth buildings, and displaying, behind its shining plate-
glass festooned with muslin, a varied assortment of sofa-cushions,
tea-cloths, pen-wipers, painted calendars and other specimens of
feminine industry. In a corner of the window she had read, on a
slip of paper pasted against the pane: "Wanted, a Saleslady," and
after studying the display of fancy articles beneath it, she gave
her mantle a twitch, straightened her shoulders and went in.

Behind a counter crowded with pin-cushions, watch-holders and
other needlework trifles, a plump young woman with smooth hair sat
sewing bows of ribbon on a scrap basket. The little shop was about
the size of the one on which Ann Eliza had just closed the door;
and it looked as fresh and gay and thriving as she and Evelina had
once dreamed of making Bunner Sisters. The friendly air of the
place made her pluck up courage to speak.

"Saleslady? Yes, we do want one. Have you any one to
recommend?" the young woman asked, not unkindly.

Ann Eliza hesitated, disconcerted by the unexpected question;
and the other, cocking her head on one side to study the effect of
the bow she had just sewed on the basket, continued: "We can't
afford more than thirty dollars a month, but the work is light.