Accordingly Mrs. Myrtle called Annie back to the counter in a kind voice.
"I can attend to you now, miss," she said; "but if you have anything to say, perhaps you'll say it quickly, for this is market day, and heaps of farmer's wives come in for no end of small matters."
"Do they pawn rings, and then take them out by degrees in instalments?" asked poor Annie in an eager voice.
"Poor, poor young lady, she's very, very bad," murmured Mrs. Myrtle to herself.
"I couldn't say for positive, miss," she replied, "that a farmer's wife has never pawned a ring; but if they are reduced to such straits, I know nothing about it."
"Then you are not a pawnbroker yourself?"
"I am not, miss. Wouldn't you like to come into my parlour and rest a bit if you're tired, and maybe you'll tell me your name?"
"She's getting quite kind again," thought Annie. "Of course she is a pawnbroker, but she doesn't like to own it; it evidently is a very disgraceful calling."
"My name is Annie Forest," she said; "and I'm not at all tired, thank you, aunt. You don't mind me calling you aunt, do you? for we always call the men in your trade uncles."
"I hope heaven will preserve my patience," muttered poor Mrs. Myrtle. "I must get this young lady to her friends whatever happens. Netty!"