The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan

hum of voices, and moving crowd of strange people all around her, while her little figure stood alone and unnoticed in the midst of them; and there seemed no prospect that she would be able to gain the ear or the eye of a single person. Once she determined to accost a man she saw advancing toward her from a distance, and actually made up to him for the purpose, but with a hurried bow, and "I beg your pardon, miss!" he brushed past. Ellen almost burst into tears. She longed to turn and run out of the store, but a faint hope remaining, and an unwillingness to give up her undertaking, kept her fast. At length one of the clerks at the desk observed her, and remarked to Mr. St. Clair who stood by, "There is a little girl, sir, who seems to be looking for something, or waiting for somebody; she has been standing there a good while." Mr. St. Clair upon this advanced, to poor Ellen's relief.

      "What do you wish, miss?" he said.

      But Ellen had been so long preparing sentences, trying to utter them and failing in the attempt, that now, when an opportunity to speak and be heard was given her, the power of speech seemed to be gone.

      "Do you wish anything, miss?" inquired Mr. St. Clair again.

      "Mother sent me," stammered Ellen – "I wish, if you please, sir – mamma wished me to look at merinoes, sir, if you please."

      "Is your mamma in the store?"

      "No, sir," said Ellen, "she is ill and cannot come out, and she sent me to look at merinoes for her, if you please, sir."

      "Here, Saunders," said Mr. St. Clair, "show this young lady the merinoes."

      Mr. Saunders made his appearance from among a little group of clerks with whom he had been indulging in a few jokes by way of relief from the tedium of business. "Come this way," he said to Ellen; and sauntering before her, with a rather dissatisfied air, led the way out of the entrance hall into another and much larger apartment. There were plenty of people here too, and just as busy as those they had quitted. Mr. Saunders having brought Ellen to the merino counter, placed himself behind it; and leaning over it and fixing his eyes carelessly upon her, asked what she wanted to look at. His tone and manner struck Ellen most unpleasantly, and made her again wish herself out of the store. He was a tall, lank young man, with a quantity of fair hair combed down on each side of his face, a slovenly exterior, and the most disagreeable pair of eyes, Ellen thought, she had ever beheld. She could not bear to meet them, and cast down her own. Their look was bold, ill-bred, and ill-humoured; and Ellen felt, though she couldn't have told why, that she need not expect either kindness or politeness from him.

      "What do you want to see, little one?" inquired this gentleman, as if he had a business on hand he would like to be rid of. Ellen heartily wished he was rid of it, and she too. "Merinoes, if you please," she answered, without looking up.

      "Well, what kind of merinoes? Here are all sorts and descriptions of merinoes, and I can't pull them all down, you know, for you to look at. What kind do you want?"

      "I don't know without looking," said Ellen, "won't you please to show me some?"

      He tossed down several pieces upon the counter, and tumbled them about before her.

      "There," said he, "is that anything like what you want? There's a pink one, and there's a blue one, and there's a green one. Is that the kind?"

      "This is the kind," said Ellen; "but this isn't the colour I want."

      "What colour do you want?"

      "Something dark, if you please."

      "Well, there, that green's dark; won't that do? See, that would make up very pretty for you."

      "No," said Ellen; "mamma don't like green."

      "Why don't she come and choose her stuffs herself, then? What colour does she like?"

      "Dark blue, or dark brown, or a nice grey would do," said Ellen, "if it is fine enough."

      "'Dark blue,' or 'dark brown,' or a 'nice grey,' eh! Well, she's pretty easy to suit. A dark blue I've showed you already; what's the matter with that?"

      "It isn't dark enough," said Ellen.

      "Well," said he discontentedly, pulling down another piece, "how'll that do? That's dark enough."

      It was a fine and beautiful piece, very different from those he had showed her at first. Even Ellen could see that, and fumbling for her little pattern of merino, she compared it with the piece. They agreed perfectly as to fineness.

      "What is the price of this?" she asked, with trembling hope that she was going to be rewarded by success for all the trouble of her enterprise.

      "Two dollars a yard."

      Her hopes and countenance fell together. "That's too high," she said with a sigh.

      "Then take this other blue; come – it's a great deal prettier than that dark one, and not so dear; and I know your mother will like it better."

      Ellen's cheeks were tingling and her heart throbbing, but she couldn't bear to give up.

      "Would you be so good as to show me some grey?"

      He slowly and ill-humouredly complied, and took down an excellent piece of dark grey, which Ellen fell in love with at once; but she was again disappointed; it was fourteen shillings.

      "Well, if you won't take that, take something else," said the man; "you can't have everything at once; if you will have cheap goods, of course you can't have the same quality that you like; but now here's this other blue, only twelve shillings, and I'll let you have it for ten if you'll take it."

      "No, it is too light and too coarse," said Ellen; "mamma wouldn't like it."

      "Let me see," said he, seizing her pattern and pretending to compare it; "it's quite as fine as this, if that's all you want."

      "Could you," said Ellen timidly, "give me a little bit of this grey to show mamma?"

      "Oh no!" said he impatiently, tossing over the cloths and throwing Ellen's pattern on the floor, "we can't cut up our goods; if people don't choose to buy of us they may go somewhere else, and if you cannot decide upon anything I must go and attend to those that can. I can't wait here all day."

      "What's the matter, Saunders?" said one of his brother clerks passing him.

      "Why, I've been here this half-hour showing cloths to a child that doesn't know merino from a sheep's back," said he, laughing. And some other customers coming up at the moment, he was as good as his word, and left Ellen, to attend to them.

      Ellen stood a moment stock still, just where he had left her, struggling with her feelings of mortification; she could not endure to let them be seen. Her face was on fire; her head was dizzy. She could not stir at first, and, in spite of her utmost efforts, she could not command back one or two rebel tears that forced their way; she lifted her hand to her face to remove them as quickly as possible. "What is all this about, my little girl?" said a strange voice at her side. Ellen started, and turned her face, with the tears but half wiped away, toward the speaker. It was an old gentleman, an odd old gentleman too, she thought; one she certainly would have been rather shy of if she had seen him under other circumstances. But though his face was odd, it looked kindly upon her, and it was a kind tone of voice in which this question had been put; so he seemed to her like a friend. "What is all this?" repeated the old gentleman. Ellen began to tell what it was, but the pride which had forbidden her to weep before strangers gave way at one touch of sympathy, and she poured out tears much faster than words as she related her story, so that it was some little time before the old gentleman could get a clear notion of her case. He waited very patiently till she had finished; but then he set himself in good earnest about righting the wrong. "Hallo! you, sir!" he shouted, in a voice that made everybody look round; "you merino man! come and show your goods: why aren't you at your post, sir?" – as Mr. Saunders came up with an altered countenance – "here's a young lady you've left standing unattended to I don't know how long; are these your manners?"

      "The young lady did not wish anything, I believe, sir," returned Mr. Saunders softly.

      "You know better, you scoundrel," retorted the old gentleman, who was in a great passion; "I saw the whole matter with my own eyes. You are a disgrace to the store, sir, and deserve to be sent out of it, which you are