“You had better take it out of the store, Mrs. Conway,” he said to her; “really, I have not taken half the amount of your bill to-day, and don’t expect to. I have to charge every thing, and no money comes in.”
“I can’t do without it,” answered the woman: “my daughter is very ill, and in want of every comfort; I am out of fire-wood, and indeed I want many things which I have depended on this money to get.”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Conway,” said the store-keeper, looking into his money-drawer; “I have not five shillings here, and your bill is five dollars and ninepence.”
The poor woman thought of her invalid child, and wrung her hands.
“A sailor was here a while ago and selected full five dollars’ worth of articles, here on the counter, and went away to get his wages to pay for them; but I question if he comes back. If he does and pays for them, you shall have your money, madam.”
At this instant Jack made his appearance in the door.
“Well, ship-mate,” he cried, in a tone much more elevated than when he was discovered speaking with the captain; “well, my hearty, hand over my freight. I’ve got the document, so give us possession!” and displaying his five-dollar note, he laid hold of his purchases.
The store-keeper, examining and seeing the note was a good one, bade him take them with him, and then sighing, as he took another and last look at the bill, he handed it to the poor widow, who, with a joyful smile, received it from him and hastened from the store.
In a low and very humble tenement, near the water, was a family of poor children, whose appearance exhibited the utmost destitution. On a cot-bed near, lay a poor woman, ill and emaciated. The door opened, and a man in coarse, patched garments entered with a wood-saw and cross, and laid them down by the door side, and approached the bed.
“Are you any better, dear?” he asked in a rough voice, but in the kindest tones.