"You've never worked for the clothing stores, I should think?" remarked this individual, looking her in the face with a steady gaze. "Never," replied the applicant, in a low tone, half shrinking away, with an instinctive aversion for the man. "Well, it's pretty good when one can't do any better. An industrious sewer can get along pretty well upon a pinch." No reply was made to this. The shirts were now ready; but, before they were handed to her, the man bent over the counter, and, putting his face close to hers, said-- "What might your name be, Miss?" A quick flush suffused the neck and face of the girl, as she stepped back a pace or two, and answered-- "That is of no consequence, sir." "Yes, Miss, but it is of consequence. We never give out work to people who don't tell their names. We would be a set of unconscionable fools to do that, I should think." The young woman stood, thoughtful for a little while, and then said, while her cheek still burned-- "Lizzy Glenn." "Very well. And now, Miss Lizzy, be kind enough to inform me where you live." "That is altogether unnecessary. I will bring the work home as soon as I have finished it." "But suppose you should happen to forget our street and number? What then?" "Oh no, I shall not do that. I know the place very well," was the innocent reply. "No, but that won't do, Lizzy. We must have the name and place of residence of every man, woman, and child who work for us. It is our rule, and we never depart from it." There was another brief period of irresolution, and then the place of abode was given. This was first entered, with her name, in a book, and then the three shirts were handed over. The seamstress turned away on receiving them, and walked quickly from the shop.