had he shown any charity to the suffering poor. But his heart was as
hard as the flinty rocks against which wash the billows of the
Atlantic. The cry of hunger never reached the inside of his breast. It
was guarded with a covering of iron, impenetrable to the voice of
misery.

And it was to this man that Mrs. Wentworth, in her hour of bitter need
applied. She entered his store and enquired of the clerk for Mr.
Swartz.

"You, will find him in that room," he replied, pointing to a chamber
in the rear of the store.

Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, and found Mr. Swartz seated before a
desk. The office, for it was his private office, was most elegantly
furnished, and exhibited marks of the proprietor's wealth.

Mr. Swartz elevated his brows with surprise, as he looked at the
care-worn expression and needy attire of the woman before him.

"Vot can I do for you my coot voman," he enquired, without even
extending the courtesy of offering her a seat.

Mrs. Wentworth remained for a moment without replying. She was
embarrassed at the uncourteous reception Mr. Swartz gave her. She did
not recollect her altered outward appearance, but thought only of the
fact that she was a lady. Her intention to appeal to him for credit,
wavered for awhile, but the gaunt skeleton, WANT, rose up and
held her two children before her, and she determined to subdue pride,
and ask the obligation.