"Well, Miss Lizzy Glenn," said Michael, with repulsive familiarity,
as Mrs. Gaston turned from the counter and left the store, "what can
I do for you this morning?"

The young seamstress made no reply, but laid her bundle upon the
counter and unrolled it. It contained three fine shirts, with linen
bosoms and collars, very neatly made.

"Very well done, Lizzy," said Michael, approvingly, as he inspected
the two rows of stitching on the bosoms and other parts of the
garments that required to be sewed neatly.

"Have you any more ready?" she asked, shrinking back as she spoke,
with a feeling of disgust, from the bold, familiar attendant.

"Have you any more fine shirts for Lizzy Glenn?" called Michael,
back to Berlaps, in a loud voice.

"I don't know. How has she made them?"

"First rate."

"Then let her have some more, and pay her for those just brought
in."

"That's your sorts!" responded Michael, as he took seventy-five
cents from the drawer and threw the money upon the counter. "Good
work, good pay, and prompt at that. Will you take three more?"