It was with weak knees and a slight catch in her breathing that
she came up to the great shoe company at Adams and Fifth Avenue
and entered the elevator. When she stepped out on the fourth
floor there was no one at hand, only great aisles of boxes piled
to the ceiling. She stood, very much frightened, awaiting some
one.

Presently Mr. Brown came up. He did not seem to recosnise her.

"What is it you want?" he inquired.

Carrie's heart sank.

"You said I should come this morning to see about work--"

"Oh," he interrupted. "Um--yes. What is your name?"

"Carrie Meeber."

"Yes," said he. "You come with me."

He led the way through dark, box-lined aisles which had the smell
of new shoes, until they came to an iron door which opened into
the factory proper. There was a large, low-ceiled room, with
clacking, rattling machines at which men in white shirt sleeves
and blue gingham aprons were working. She followed him
diffidently through the clattering automatons, keeping her eyes
straight before her, and flushing slightly. They crossed to a far
corner and took an elevator to the sixth floor. Out of the array