"He has a shop," said Edith, "and knives, and forks, and scissors, and iron things in it."
"Oh, I know; he is what we call a hardware merchant."
"Yes," said Edith, "that's it."
"Well, where's the shop?"
"In the city," said Edith, "in —— street. My papa's name is —— Grosvenor, Esquire."
"Well, we'll find him, Jim and I. Here's the horse and wagon, my little musician, so jump in."
Jim whipped up, and away we jolted into town, little Edith clinging tightly to my arm, for fear of Bridget.
Two hours and we were in —— street. I went into a confectioner's with little Edith, while Jim drove to her father's store.
Edith grew very impatient—a bright red spot came upon her cheek—and she walked often to the window and looked out.
In about half an hour I saw Jim coming back up the street, and at his side a fine looking, tall man, of thirty.