"God will punish them according to His judgment, mother. It may be here and it may be hereafter. We have nothing to do with their wrongdoing. We must suffer and be brave—that is our duty and our mission."

"And do you see no injustice in that?" cried Mr. Watkins sharply.

"Was it right that poor Mary should be born to poverty and disease and wear her young life out in agony, while so many of the wicked are flourishing? Oh, I have tried not to question or even to think, but the promise of salvation grows daily more dull in my ears. I doubt the mercy of God and I cannot help it!"



CHAPTER XII.

A COMPLICATION OF TROUBLES.

Faith could think of no words then to comfort Mr. Watkins. His grief was too poignant. She changed the subject.

When he left the house to go home, she put on her hat. There was something she wished to say to him that she could not say before her mother. There was an errand at the grocery that gave her an excuse, and as the hour was not late, Faith welcomed the opportunity.

As soon as they were in the street she told him her experience with the store detective and asked his advice in case she should be annoyed in the future.

Before the words were fairly out of her mouth she wished she had not spoken. There was confusion and shame upon her companion's face, and his lips trembled strangely when he tried to answer her.

For a moment Faith could hardly believe her senses. She stared at him stupidly, while her limbs trembled beneath her.

Instantly a suspicion darted through her brain. She remembered that he, too, had been in the superintendent's office that evening, and that it was possible, even probable, that he knew something about the money.

"Oh, Miss Marvin, this is dreadful!" he managed to say at last. "I did not dream that they would settle upon you! I thought, that is, I hoped, that they had dropped the matter!"

"Then you knew of it," said Faith, her voice sounding faint and far away.

"I knew it, yes," said Mr. Watkins. "In fact, I was sent by Mr. Forbes to stop you, but you had gotten out of the building."

"Is it possible?"

Faith was coming back to her senses now.

"Tell me all you know of the matter, Mr. Watkins," she said, sternly, "and tell me the exact truth. Don't attempt to hide anything!"

Mr. Watkins controlled himself and told her the whole story—how the superintendent had suspected her of stealing the money and sent to have her brought back at once and had been disappointed.

"An hour later," he continued, "he got a telegram from his wife. His son was dying and he had to go home. Since then there had nothing been done about the robbery."

Faith drew a long breath after the young man finished.

"So appearances are against me," she said, with a sigh. "I am at the mercy of a rascal like that detective, Hardy."

Mr. Watkins said nothing, but he was as pale as death. When he tried to comfort her the words nearly choked him.

Faith saw it and pitied him even while she wondered. A few moments later she bade him a cordial "good-night." If there was any suspicion in her heart it did not show in her manner.

She was walking slowly home from the grocery, plunged in the most serious thought, when a well-dressed man of middle age appeared suddenly before her.

"I beg pardon, miss," he said, raising his hat, "but I am a stranger in this neighborhood and am looking for a certain number. If you live about here perhaps you will kindly direct me."

"I will, with pleasure, sir. What number do you wish?" asked Faith.

As she spoke she paused directly in the glare of a gas lamp.

As the light fell on her face the stranger stopped abruptly.

"By Jove! What luck!" he cried, gayly. "The very angel I was thinking of!"

"What do you mean, sir!" cried Faith, who was now thoroughly frightened. "If you wish me to direct you, state the number that you seek at once! I am not in the habit of being addressed by strangers!"

"My dear child, don't get angry. I shall not harm you," said the man, politely, "but you surprised me out of myself. I did not dream of meeting you."

As Faith still stood staring at him he continued, speaking hurriedly, and his manner became so chivalrous that the young girl soon accused herself mentally of rudeness.

"You see, it is this way, miss. I was thinking of the sweetest little girl in the whole big world, and when I saw your face you were so much like her that to save my soul I could not help that exclamation. You will pardon me, I am sure, for I meant no harm whatever! I am old enough to be your father, so you see you have no reason to fear me."

"I spoke hastily," said Faith, slowly. "I had no wish to be rude, but you must admit that I had cause to feel a little startled."

"You did, indeed, and I apologize humbly, but am I not right in thinking that I have seen you somewhere before? Are you not employed in the department store of Denton, Day & Co.?"

Faith looked at him in surprise.

"I have worked there two days," she began, a little hastily.

"And I have seen you twice," replied the stranger, promptly. "Your face is a sweet one. I could not forget it."

The words were spoken so quietly that Faith could not resent them. She was moving slowly toward her home now, feeling a little bit nervous.

"That is a dreadful life for a girl," went on the man, very quietly. "It is agony for the poor things, both of mind and body!"

"You are right, sir," cried Faith, who had thought instantly of Miss Jennings. "The shop girls' life is one continuous drudgery. She is the slave of circumstances and the victim of conditions."

"I am surprised that so many enter the life. There are surely other vocations. They choose the hardest one possible."

"But do they choose?" asked Faith, who had become interested in spite, of herself. "Are they not driven this way or that, according to their opportunities? In my case there was no choice. I had tried everything else. Hard as it is, I am thankful for my present employment."

The man looked at her sharply. There was genuine sympathy in his face. Almost involuntarily he broke out in violent sentences.

"You girls are to blame in great measure for all this, and where the fault is not yours it lies with your parents! Instead of cultivating your graces you bedraggle them with labor! Instead of marketing your smiles you trade in blood and sinew! Every day in that store means a year off of your life; every anxious moment means an inroad into your rightful happiness! Why will you not see the folly of your ways? Why can you not understand that it is a false morality which is killing you? Why, if I were a girl"—his voice had dropped to the most persuasive cadence—"I should value my beauty too highly to hide it behind a counter, and my subsistence should be the boundless reward of affection, rather than the niggardly recompense for wasted tissues! Of course, I shock you, because you have done no thinking for yourself. A lot of narrow souled ancestors have done thinking for you. They have brought you here to let you shift for yourself, but woe to you if you offend one of their petty notions of honor. See, child! I have money, I have constant ease. Could you blame me for offering to share it with youth and beauty?"

As he breathed these words he gazed at Faith eagerly. The soul in the man had vanished. He was dangerously in earnest.

The thrill that flowed through Faith's veins as he spoke was not of fear, for, child that she was, she understood his meaning, and his words stirred the deepest channels of her soul—she was more grieved than shocked at the man's distorted reasoning.

"You are all wrong," she said, sadly. "You cannot understand! There are some things more precious than gold to us, more precious even than comfort or affection. Not for the world would I lose this 'something' which I possess! It is the haven of my soul at the hour of every trial. It is the one solace of my life in the desperate condition that I have reached. You, a man of years, should not argue so wrongfully. It is wicked to place temptations before the young and wretched."

She had regained her composure as she finished speaking, and a tinge of righteous indignation made her voice vibrate strangely.

"Is it wrong to do good?" asked the man, a trifle sullenly. "Surely comfort, ease, health are the best a man can offer. Nature did not create you girls for a life of toil. You were made for love, for homage and adoration. Yet when one offers you these you turn to your nameless 'something' and, like the martyrs of old, suffer torture and death rather than accept what is your due. It is incomprehensible, truly!"

"Hush! Your words are an insult! I will not hear them. It is true that my knowledge of the world is limited, but this much I know: the God of righteousness has placed me here for a purpose, and that purpose is not to play the coward in time of trouble or to prove traitor to the highest, holiest instincts which permeate my being! Working girl I am and may always be, but my lot is a queen's beside what you suggest! God pity the poor women who have not the wisdom to see it."

She was standing before him now like a beautiful statue, one arm uplifted to emphasize her utterances.

"My God! You are superb! Magnificent!" muttered the man involuntarily. "I would give my life to be worthy of such a woman!"

Faith's arm dropped suddenly, and she drew away with a gasp. There was a look in the man's face that frightened her for a moment.

"You have taught me a lesson," he said, almost hoarsely. "I thank you, child, and I bid you good-evening."

"But the number," cried Faith, as he was turning away. "You wished me to direct you to a certain number."

"Never mind it now. I can find it," was the answer.

He was walking swiftly away in the darkness of the street, when a figure approached him from the opposite direction.

The two met directly under the gas lamp where Faith had been standing a moment before, and as they met Faith heard a sharp exclamation.

Her sharp eyes recognized the newcomer at once. It was no other than Bob Hardy, the store detective.



CHAPTER XIII.

A HEAVENLY INSPECTOR.

When Faith Marvin reached home after her unpleasant interview with the well-dressed stranger, she was in a state of nervousness that nearly bordered upon hysterics. The fact that Bob Hardy was a witness to what she had supposed was a mere accidental meeting gave her an instinctive clue to the identity of the man, and her cheeks flushed with shame as she connected him in her thoughts with that insulting proposition of the detective.

She had tried to compose herself, as usual, before going into her mother's presence, and succeeded so well that when they retired Mrs. Marvin had no suspicion of the interview. Neither did Faith acquaint her with the extraordinary suspicions against Mr. Watkins, which she now felt ashamed to think she had harbored for a second.

She was much troubled in mind about the latter, for while she felt in her heart that Mr. Watkins was innocent she could not help thinking that he, too, was shielding a thief. She wondered if it was because he felt the same on the subject as had his sweetheart, Miss Jennings. She said her prayers quietly and felt more tranquil after. There was a balm in religion for her trusting heart, which she begged with all her soul to share with others.

It was during this hour that she thought of Mr. Forbes, whom she knew was to bury his only son on the morrow. Suddenly the thought flitted through her head that perhaps employees were somewhat to blame for not expressing more sympathy for their employers in all serious matters.

"Perhaps they think us as heartless as we think them," she whispered to herself; then the impulse came over her to write Mr. Forbes a letter.

She rose quietly, so as not to wake her mother, and penned him the note. It came straight from her heart. She told him she was sorry for his sorrow. Early the next morning she went out and mailed it. Little Dick went with her, hobbling along on clumsy crutches. The child had fallen in love with her at once, and, although he often cried for his sister, Faith could always cheer him and change his tears to laughter.

Late in the afternoon she rode down to the undertaker's. She had not become reconciled yet to parting with Miss Jennings.

As she reached the door two women were just leaving; they were Miss Fairbanks, the buyer, and Maggie Brady. Faith was startled for a minute, for she could not understand their interest. Neither one of them had ever shown the faintest liking for the dead girl, but now she noticed with surprise that they had both been crying. "Truly, every cloud has a silver lining," she murmured to herself, "and who knows but what this is the first glimpse of the lining! Oh, I do hope it will soon show itself to poor Mr. Watkins."

The two women had passed her with a mere nod of the head. She opened the door of the establishment and confronted Mr. Watkins.

"Oh, what is it?" she cried, involuntarily, as she saw his face. "Don't, dear Mr. Watkins; don't take it so badly."

Mr. Watkins put his hand on her arm as she spoke. He was so faint and weak that he seemed obliged to lean on something.

"I—I have explained that matter about the money," he whispered, hoarsely. "Hardy will not annoy you any longer. The thief has been discovered."

He looked so wretched that the tears sprang to Faith's eyes.

"I am glad it is explained," she answered, hastily, "but you are ill, Mr. Watkins. You should go home this minute."

"Home—home!" repeated Mr. Watkins in a vacant manner.

Then with a fearful groan of agony he collapsed completely. As he fell to the floor several of the undertaker's clerks rushed forward and lifted him up.

"Another victim of conditions, of greed and avarice," said a voice in Faith's ear.

She turned quickly and recognized Miss Alma Dean, the woman inspector, whose card she had in her pocket.

Without waiting for Faith to answer, the lady went on speaking. The men were laying Mr. Watkins on a sofa not twenty feet away from the body of his dead sweetheart.

"That poor fellow was a picture of health two years ago, before he entered the employ of Denton, Day & Co. I know his mother well; she is a lovely woman, and he has a younger brother who is also in that store, and liable to follow in this poor chap's footsteps. I just came in to look at that poor girl. I want to stamp her face indelibly upon my memory. Thank fortune I am in a position to remedy some of the evils in this world. As Government Inspector I can do considerable, but I must learn the length and breadth of the evil before I am fit to attack it."

Faith listened breathlessly to every word. The proprietor of the place was also listening, and as she finished, he nodded his head as though he quite agreed with her.

Mr. Watkins was rapidly reviving under the kind care bestowed upon him, but before he was fairly alive to his surroundings Miss Dean took Faith's hand and led her out on to the sidewalk.

"They will take him home—they are very kind people," said the lady, sadly, "but now, dear, you and I are confronted with a problem. How are we to prevent the repetition of this horror?"

As Miss Dean asked the question she did not really seem to expect an answer from Faith; it was more like a spoken expression of thoughts that were vexing her, made to one whom she knew was thoroughly sympathetic.

"This is the saddest demonstration of injustice that I have ever witnessed," she went on, slowly, "yet I know it is mild in comparison with others. It lacks the hideousness of exposure, so far as you see. We only know that one more crime has been added to the list, yet the details of that crime have been carefully spared us."

Faith knew that she referred to poor Mary's death, but she could find no words with which to manifest the depth of her sorrow.

"The fear of the law is our only hope, I guess," went on Miss Dean. "They must be forced to comply with certain regulations. Many of the stores are doing so, under no compulsion whatever, but these people seem deaf to everything but the jingle of their dollars."

"But the law cannot change their hearts," muttered Faith, at last, "so the cure that it effects must of necessity be superficial. Oh, if only the fear of the Lord could be instilled into their system. If they could only be made to feel that to Him they are accountable!" She spoke with enthusiasm, her eyes and cheeks brightening.

"You are a good ally," said Miss Dean, watching her, "but, my dear, the day of miracles is ended."

"But with God all things are possible! It would be no miracle for Him! I did not mean to infer that I or any human being could reach their hearts, still our words and our prayers, are they not noble weapons?"

"I am not so sure," said the inspector, gravely. "I think, dear, I am better fitted to experiment on a purely worldly basis. For instance, I have already reported the condition of that cloak-room, the drainage, ventilation and unsuitable location. Then I have mentioned the inadequate fire appliances in the building as well as the long hours you girls are obliged to stand and the short time which you are allowed for luncheon. I think that several of these matters will be changed at once, but there are others which will take longer or which may never be accomplished."

"It will make them very angry, will it not, when they hear of your report? And the alterations will be expensive, especially when it comes to altering the cloak-room."

"Oh, well, we inspectors cannot worry over any personal feelings, my dear. Our duty is to make right all wrong conditions. We are to look after the health of people, not their money. The only question is how to do this in the quickest possible manner."

Faith glanced at her sharply. She was a handsome woman. There was a resolution in her face that commanded instant admiration.

"I am glad to have seen you to-day," Miss Dean said as they reached the corner. "I find my sympathies are more and more enlisted through acquaintance with you girls. Why, I feel that I would like your employers to spend millions in making your labors a little lighter."

She smiled pleasantly as she spoke and offered Faith her hand.

"Good-by, dear," she said brightly, "there's a good time coming."

Faith watched her as she boarded a car—she was so ambitious, so full of vigor and so nobly intentioned.

"If she were only an inspector sent from God, now," she whispered, then a tremor shot over her frame at such a wonderful suggestion.

"Why should I not be an inspector sent from God," she murmured, "to seek out the dark places and let in the light? If it is only a candle flame it will help a little."

She turned abstractedly, almost dazed by her thoughts.

The next instant she was brought almost rudely to her senses. Some one had called her by name. She turned and faced young Denton.



CHAPTER XIV.

MR. FORBES TALKS ON RELIGION.

About two hours before the meeting of Faith and young Denton, Duncan Forbes returned from burying his son, and sat down disconsolately in the library of his handsome residence.

Although only the junior partner in the firm of Denton, Day & Co., still his interest, together with his salary as superintendent of the establishment, brought him in every year a princely income.

Then there were other investments of a varied nature, all of which had proven more than ordinarily successful, yet now in his hour of sorrow he could feel no atom of thankfulness, and every hour of his busy life seemed to him to have been wasted.

As he sat staring at the fire he could hardly restrain his feelings, for the words "God will punish you" were ringing in his ears even more clearly now than when he first heard them.

He tried to go over the incidents of that morning when a poor applicant in his office had wrought such havoc with his conscience.

He remembered the five hundred dollars of which he had been robbed, and he also recalled vaguely the conversation he had with a woman inspector in the store immediately after. Then came the message regarding his son's condition, then the death chamber, the grave, and now—desolation. The door opened softly and a servant entered. She bore a tray upon which were laid a number of letters.

After she had gone Mr. Forbes rose and looked them over. He did so listlessly. He had no heart for business.

The first three were business letters, referred to him by the firm with a brief note, stating their importance as an apology for the intrusion.

The next two letters were letters of condolence from members of his church. The last was a cheap envelope, neatly sealed and addressed modestly.

This last he turned over and over between his fingers. There was a vague thought in his brain to which he could give neither shape nor utterance.

Could it be possible? He asked the question and then sneered in answer. The thing was incredible, that he, Duncan Forbes, tyrant and slave-driver, should be remembered by his victims, yet the envelope was redolent of sympathetic surprises.

He tore it open finally and glanced at the words. For just a moment the flame of appreciation sprang up within him.

The note was from Faith Marvin, the new packer whom he had employed. She was "sorry for him," she said, "in this hour of his affliction."

He laid it down with a sigh that ended in a groan. His brow darkened as he looked at it. He was aroused and puzzled. The door opened again and his pastor entered. He came unannounced and in a shrinking manner.

Mr. Forbes turned toward him indifferently and held out his hand. He realized that this call was obligatory. He had been paying for it yearly.

As the two men sat down the minister coughed a little, then he folded his hands meekly—his host knew what was coming.

"I trust that you have become reconciled to this separation, dear Brother Forbes," he began solemnly, "and that you can say in your heart 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.'"

Duncan Forbes did not answer for the space of a minute, during which time his pastor watched him furtively from under his eyebrows.

"My son was my all," he muttered finally. "It is for his sake alone that I have lived and labored—that by the sweat of my brow I have accumulated my fortune."

The minister sighed with unaffected sympathy.

"Yet God in His mercy has taken him from you. He who seeth the end from the beginning knew what was best, dear brother, for your soul's salvation."

"But of what use is my life now?" questioned Mr. Forbes sharply. "I am a broken reed with no ambition to lean upon. A man whose heart has been plucked by its roots from my body. Is there anything in our religion which can solace me, do you think? Is there a recompense for the sufferings of a heartbroken father?"

"There is balm for every wound, Brother Forbes, if we seek it. Others have suffered your loss and been able to find it."

Duncan Forbes sat back in his chair and stared straight before him. The words had brought to his mind unpleasant visions.

In an instant he was back in his store again, where scores of pale-faced, hollow-eyed youths and maidens were moving about. They all had mothers and fathers or some one who loved them, yet, unlike his Jack, they were weighed down by poverty, the millstone of disease was about their necks, and he, Duncan Forbes, was relentlessly grinding the very spirit out of their frail bodies.

He shuddered involuntarily and that brought him back to his senses.

"Religion! what is it?" he asked unpleasantly. "Has it any practical value in the lives of mortals? I have been a church member for forty years, paying my dues in accordance with the terms of that institution and shirking none of its responsibilities. Now, at the hour of sorrow, I find myself facing my grief alone; there is no power in the church that can help me to bear it. What is religion, I say? Is it a mere mummery of speech? I have been religious all my life; now I find nothing in it!"

"The fault is in you," said his caller, gravely.

Both men had risen and stood facing each other.

"You have been too occupied with other things, brother—too busy, you might say, with worldly matters to search for the spirit that pervades what you call 'mummery.' Surely in your love for Jack you appreciate something of the love of Christ for man; in your dealings with men and women you can realize His interest in humanity, and through your wealth you have the power to reap a harvest of good, yet how have you improved these opportunities?"

Mr. Forbes looked surprised, as well he might. They were the first words of a personal application of belief that his ears had listened to since he could remember.

"But religion has no part in worldly affairs," he said sullenly. "To be born for heaven is to be lost for earth; surely we should take each condition in the order that it comes—wealth, position first; prayer and praise hereafter; earth for the body and heaven for the soul; goods and chattels now, faith our stock in trade for the future. This is practical, is it not? This is good, sound reasoning. You are a minister of the Gospel, yet you can't deny it!"

"I can and do!" cried the minister bravely. "A belief that does not shape the life of the believer is not religion! Faith that does not light the path of the present is not the inspiration of Heaven! The Spirit of Christ is an ever-present reagent, neutralizing every rancor of human strife and blending all grief into harmonious concord. Every human act should be weighed in the balance of a man's belief. If he sacrifice divine faith to worldly ambition, he is in need of the chastening rod, and God will surely punish him!"

"You do not preach that from your pulpit, Dr. Villard," he said slowly, "and there is hardly a man in your congregation who does not need it."

Dr. Villard's thin face turned to a sickly pallor. It was a just retribution. He accepted it meekly.

"We ministers are but human," he began, softly.

There was a rap on the door. It came as a welcome interruption.

When Mr. Forbes opened the door he saw his assistant, Mr. Watkins. The young man's face was the color of a corpse, and his hollow eyes were red from weeping.

"I must see you, if only for a minute, sir," he said hastily, then as he caught sight of the visitor a flush spread over his features.

True to his nature, Duncan Forbes scowled heavily for a moment. He would have sent Mr. Watkins away if his guest had not prevented it.

"As you would be done by, Brother Forbes," he whispered quickly.

The next moment he was gone and Mr. Watkins had entered.



CHAPTER XV.

A PLAIN TRUTH FROM MR. WATKINS.

Duncan Forbes roused himself to hear his second visitor's errand. He knew that it must be something important, yet he felt bored and disinterested.

Business matters were far from his thoughts to-day, yet for forty years they had consumed his entire attention.

Mr. Watkins seemed to be struggling for words—he looked pained and embarrassed. He shifted his hat from one hand to the other, and his thin face reddened and paled alternately.

For the first time in his life Duncan Forbes looked upon his assistant as another man's son—the loved and loving child of another father. It was a queer sensation; he could not get used to it; then came a memory of Jack, and his emotion conquered for the moment.

"You are excited, Watkins; sit down," he said huskily. "Something else has gone wrong at the store, I suppose. Well, let it go; it can wait until to-morrow."

"No, sir, it can't wait!" blurted out Mr. Watkins. "If it could I should not have come, knowing as I did of your dreadful sorrow!"

Again the thrill of surprise shook the man's every fibre. Another of his victims had remembered that it was his day of grief, and the very tones spoke of sympathy for his affliction.

"Well, then, what is it?" He spoke with some of his old sternness. "Speak out, Watkins; you know my habits. I always expect promptness in these errands."

"But this is purely personal, sir!" answered Mr. Watkins, sadly. "I have come to see you about that five hundred dollars that was taken from your desk last Monday morning."

"What of it?" asked Mr. Forbes with much of his old interest returning. He had been too long a slave to money to loose the bondage immediately.

Mr. Watkins was trembling now so that he could hardly speak. In his weak condition of health the recent deluge of trouble was telling upon him.

"She took it, I suppose, that girl that I employed that morning," said Mr. Forbes, trying to hurry matters. "Has anything been done? I told Hardy to look after it."

He picked up Faith's letter again and glanced at it absently. When he saw the name he dropped it as if it had stung him.

A great wave of color purpled his heavy face, and instantly he was the same old tyrant, raging furiously at the creatures whom fate had made his victims.

"See here, Watkins! Here's her letter! Can you believe such deceit! She not only cursed me that morning with her religious cant, but she stole my money as well; now she mocks my sorrow with a letter like that—she is 'sorry' for me! Do you hear, Watkins? She is 'sorry!'"

The great veins were standing out like cords upon his forehead, and he began pacing the floor in a perfect frenzy of anger.

"Tell Hardy to arrest her and have her locked up at once! I'll make an example of her before the whole store! The idea of her daring to write me a letter!"

"But, Mr. Forbes, please listen!" cried Mr. Watkins at last. This injustice to Faith had brought him to his senses. "It was not Miss Marvin who stole the money! She is a good girl, sir, the best I ever knew, and she is sorry for you, sir; if she wasn't she would not say so!"

"But the money!" roared Mr. Forbes. "Who took the money? If it wasn't the girl, why didn't you say so?"

"I couldn't, sir, at first, but I will say it now; but for pity's sake be merciful, sir. The thief was my own poor brother!"

"What! the boy who tends door?" asked Mr. Forbes in great astonishment.

"Yes, sir; poor Sam took it! He stole it for our mother!"

Mr. Forbes stared at him some time before he spoke again.

"And the girl," he asked finally. "Has Hardy been following her?"

"He has indeed," said Mr. Watkins quickly, "but I dare not report his actions; I have no proofs to offer. Hardy would doubtless deny all that she could say of him, for a girl is helpless in the hands of a villain like Hardy."

"I have found him a good detective," said Mr. Forbes, slowly, "but if you knew who took the money why didn't you tell him?"

"How could I, sir?"

Mr. Watkins had begun to tremble again.

"The knowledge of his sin is already killing my mother; if it becomes public she will die. I was waiting for you to come back to business."

"Well, the boy must be punished!" said Mr, Forbes decidedly. "I cannot be accountable for what may follow."

"Do you mean that you will arrest my brother?" cried Mr. Watkins, "when you know that by doing so you will blast his character forever and drive a poor woman to her grave who has never wronged you?"

"The boy should have thought of that," answered Mr. Forbes, grimly. "I deal with my employees, not with their futures or their mothers."

"But if I return the money! See, I have a part of it here!"

Mr. Watkins almost cried with agony as he held out two hundred dollars.

Mr. Forbes took the money and counted it carefully.

"Let's see, Watkins, your salary is twelve dollars a week," he said slowly. "If I deduct five dollars a week to cover the balance of this, it will be just sixty weeks before I could get my money."

"If I could only find the rest," said Mr. Watkins, groaning; "but Sam says he lost it, and I think he tells the truth. If he hadn't lost it he would have given it all to mother."

Mr. Forbes was drumming lightly on a table by his side. It was evident that two emotions were struggling within him.

"Here is the evening paper, sir," said a maid at the door.

Mr. Watkins moved automatically and handed it to his employer.

"Hey! What is this! A death at our store yesterday, Watkins?"

Mr. Forbes had caught sight of a headline half across the paper.

Mr. Watkins bowed; he could not speak. His employer opened the paper and scanned it hastily.

"Ah! That's right! That's right! Gibson is a clever man! He makes the thing sound right before the public! Denton, Day & Co. will pay for Miss Jennings' funeral, yet they say there is no heart, soul nor conscience in a big corporation!"

He almost laughed as he ran his eye down the columns of the paper, and for a moment his manner became almost confidential.

"That's one of the tricks of our trade, Watkins," he said with a chuckle. "We cater to the weaknesses and foibles of the public, and there's nothing that appeals to them like a report of generosity. Of course, they never stop to think that the poor creatures are much better off dead than alive, and that they really have no hold on the sympathies of others. It's a fad among rich people to weep over the poor! Some of them will probably send flowers to the funeral of that woman, and think themselves angels of light for doing it! I tell you, religion is a trade mark in all lines of business, and I've decided in the last few days that that's about all it's good for!"

He laid the paper down with a smile of satisfaction, then turned toward Mr. Watkins to resume the former conversation.

But a look at the young man's face checked the words upon his lips. The scorn in those hollow eyes burned even through his callous nature.

For a moment he saw himself much as his assistant saw him, a man whose greed of gold never reached its limit, even though lives were sacrificed in his service.

He could not speak although he tried to repeatedly, for the glare of his assistant's eye transfixed him like a magnet.

With one hand upon the door, Mr. Watkins paused to answer:

"The papers don't know it all, Mr. Forbes," he whispered shrilly; "or, if they do, they don't dare to tell what they know. If they did they would add that it was the least you could do—to pay for her funeral after your firm has killed her!"



CHAPTER XVI.

FAITH'S TALK WITH YOUNG DENTON.

"Miss Marvin, I beg that you will excuse this intrusion," said James Denton as he joined her on the street after her call at the undertaker's, "but there is something I wish very particularly to say to you; it is something regarding that poor girl, Miss Jennings."

He had raised his hat politely and stood regarding the young girl in a most courteous manner. As Faith studied his face she could see that he meant no disrespect, but was painfully in earnest.

"I shall be glad to hear anything that you have to say about poor Mary," she answered sadly, "for she was my very dear friend, although our acquaintance was a brief one."

"Let us walk a little, Miss Marvin, please. I can talk better when I'm walking. The fact is, I'm horribly upset, and I don't know why I should be, either."

Faith looked at him sharply. He had removed his hat again and was passing his hand over his brow in a thoughtful manner.

She discovered in that glance that he was a remarkably handsome fellow, for youth, even in its hour of sorrow, cannot help being attracted to all that is gracious and beautiful.

His eyes would have been fine had their glance been a little more steady, but he shifted his gaze constantly, like one who possesses an undecided nature.

"What I have to say is this," he began very bluntly. "I think the firm should arrange to let all you girls attend the funeral of Miss Jennings, and I don't exactly know how to go to work to get them to do it."

"Oh, what a lovely idea!" exclaimed Faith, impulsively, "and it is so kind of you think of it, Mr. Denton," she added.

The young man blushed a little at her enthusiastic words, but went on talking as calmly as possible.

"I've been doing a little thinking since Miss Jennings died; I don't know why, for the death of a clerk doesn't usually affect me."

"Perhaps it was because it occurred in the store," suggested Faith, gently. "You have probably not known the details of any other such sad occurrence."

"That is doubtless it," said Mr. Denton promptly, "but another thing is this: I knew Mr. Watkins before he went to work for my father. His folks used to be rich, you know, and Fred was always a good fellow. He was in love with the girl, and I can't help feeling sorry for him, though, as I said before, I don't quite understand why I'm interested."

"Poor fellow! He needs all our sympathy," cried Faith. "He is lying at the undertaker's now in a terrible condition!"

"Is that so!" exclaimed Mr. Denton. "Why, I met him not more than an hour ago; he was just coming from Mr. Forbes, the superintendent. His face was positively ghastly when I saw him. No doubt old Forbes had been giving him the devil!"

"Surely not at this time!" cried Faith in dismay. "He could not be so cruel—so utterly heartless!"

"Forbes has no heart; he is a machine!" said young Denton. "He is simply a human octopus for pulling in money. Not that I object to money," he added, with a laugh, "but I hate to see men make it through such inhuman methods!"

Faith was utterly astonished at the young man's words. She had been led to believe that he was a thoroughly unscrupulous person, but here he was expressing her own sentiments exactly.

In an instant the young man noticed her look of surprise.

"You are puzzled," he said quickly. "You thought I was nothing but a brainless young scamp! No doubt you have heard my character from the girls in your department!"

"Oh, no!" said Faith quickly. "I have not heard that, indeed! But you will pardon me, Mr. Denton, I did think you were unprincipled, else why should you come in the store and try to make fools of all the young women?"

"Not all of them, only the prettiest!" laughed young Denton, gayly. "Surely a man can flirt a little without doing any harm, and the girls all like it—why shouldn't they, Miss Marvin?"

"But do you ever think what this flirting means?" persisted Faith, who had lost all her timidity and was plunging into the subject in earnest.

"It means a good time and a lot of money spent," said the young fellow, still laughing. "But why not spend it on the girls? Don't they help the governor to make it?"

"Oh, Mr. Denton!" cried Faith, who was now thoroughly shocked. "Is it possible that you are speaking now of your own father?"

"I certainly was," was the unabashed answer. "I did not mean to be disrespectful; that is only a habit."

"A very bad habit," said Faith, reprovingly, "but to return to the subject of poor Mary's funeral. Do you think if we asked for a day we would get it? You know, the store is closed to-day; they might not like to lose another."

"Of course, they wouldn't like it, but that don't make any difference," said young Denton, grandly. "What was Jack Forbes's funeral to you clerks, anyway? The closing to-day was only a bluff—one of the bluffs that all stores put up to keep the good opinion of the public. Now, this affair is entirely different. This girl was one of you, and you ought to be allowed to attend her funeral!"

"Have you spoken to your father?" asked Faith, after a minute.

"Not yet, but I'm going to. Now this is my plan: You get up a petition and get the clerks to sign it and then you go yourself to old Forbes to-morrow. He'll be worse than a brute if he dares to refuse you! Meanwhile I'll see my father at home to-night. He's a little soft on me yet, even if he is a hard-headed old sinner!"

"Oh, Mr. Denton, don't say such things!" cried Faith, "I will never talk to you again if you persist in speaking so of your father!"

The young man threw back his head and had a hearty laugh.

"You're the most innocent little kitten I ever saw," he said softly; "it's a deuced shame that you have to work for a living!"

Faith's eyes blazed angrily before he had hardly spoken the words.

"I am glad to be able to earn my living!" she said sternly; "it is ever so much nobler than to be living on one's parents!"

The flush that mantled the young man's brow showed that her words had struck home, but he tried to turn it off with a neatly put compliment.

"I'm a sad beggar, I know, Miss Marvin, but I'm going to reform! I never wanted to be different until, well, until now—to be honest."

"You are not serious, Mr. Denton; I see laughter in your eyes," said Faith, smiling. "But I will get up the petition at once, as you suggest, and I shall pray that our appeal may not be in vain."

She had paused at a street corner and was extending her hand to say good-by to the young man when a woman passed them and jostled Faith rudely.

It was Maggie Brady, the girl who loved Jim Denton. As she faced them for a second both saw that her eyes gleamed dangerously. Without even stopping she made a remark to Faith—the words were hissed between her teeth with the venom of a serpent.

"You'll be sorry for this, you little hypocrite! I thought you were too pious to be altogether healthy!"

Faith turned as pale as death as the woman strode on; James Denton was smiling in a half-hearted manner.

"That is the result of your flirting," Faith managed to say at last. "Oh, Mr. Denton, can't you see what you've done? You've made that woman love you, and now she is going straight to destruction!"



CHAPTER XVII.

THE PARTNERS DO A LITTLE TALKING.

Mr. Forbes was at his office in the store early the next morning after his interview with Mr. Watkins. He would have been glad to stay away for another day, but there were many details of the business that needed his attention. Sam Watkins, his office boy, was not waiting for him as usual, but Mr. Forbes was confident that he could find him when he wanted him. He looked around for his assistant, but he was absent also. This fact was more annoying, because it aroused his suspicions.

"Bolted!" he muttered with an angry frown. "Ten to one he's run away and I'll never get my money."

Then he smiled a little, for he knew that Watkins had no funds with which to make his escape, but even if he had there were many ways of catching him.

As he seated himself at his desk both of his partners entered, and there were expressions of condolence offered in a punctilious manner.

"Sometimes I think that we fathers are all wrong," remarked Mr. Denton, after the condolences were over. "We bind ourselves hand and foot in the bondage of business, and all for what—our wives and children! If they needed such a sacrifice we would not begrudge it, but the more they have the more they want, until the head of the family is a mere automaton—a machine to pamper useless folly."

This was a lengthy speech for the senior partner to make, as he was naturally a reticent man, who allowed others to do the talking.

"You may be right," remarked Mr. Day pompously, "still, you must admit that wealth brings advantages even to us who slave—we can drop business cares and go abroad now and then—our time is our own beyond a certain figure."

"I have never reached that figure," said Mr. Forbes, very dryly, "and further, when I drop the reins the horses run wild, for be as careful as you may in the choice of employees there is never one who will not take advantage of your absence—the exceptions are so rare that they are scarcely worth mentioning."

"Well, I for one am getting discouraged," said Mr. Denton. "There's that boy of mine, Jim; how is he repaying my efforts?"

There was no answer to his question, but he did not expect one. After a moment's silence he finished his observations.

"If that boy had a million he would spend it in a month, yet no one has ever yet accused him of being vicious. I've set him up in business and everything else—he's had money and an example, but with it all, what is he?"

"Perhaps you are not strict enough," suggested Mr. Day, who was thanking his stars at that moment that he had no children.

"It will take something besides discipline to make a man of Jim."

Mr. Denton sighed as if he was very unhappy.

"Oh, he'll marry and settle down some day," said Mr. Day, laughing. "When he has a family to support he'll take life more seriously."

"I wish he had one," said Mr. Denton, speaking quickly, "but I hope he'll marry a working girl and not a 'society lady.'"

Both of his partners looked up in unfeigned surprise, but it was evident that the words had been said deliberately.

"There's a girl, a packer, down in the ribbon department. I've only seen her once, but she's a perfect beauty. That's the kind of a girl that would make a good wife; she's not afraid of work and she's honestly religious."

Mr. Forbes and Mr. Day were almost gasping now, but Mr. Denton went right on as though his words were not extraordinary.

"When that Miss Jennings died this girl held her in her arms. She's not over seventeen, yet death did not even frighten her. In that poor girl's last hour she was her only comfort, and if I ever saw an angel I saw one at that moment."

Some one tapped on the door, but no one rose to open it. Mr. Denton waited a moment and then went on with his subject.

"I don't remember how I happened to be in the basement that day. Oh, yes, I do. Mr. Forbes was away, and Mr. Gibson sent for me. I was waylaid on the first floor by one of those Government Inspectors; she went with me to the cloak-room. I simply couldn't stop her! When I got there that girl, Miss Jennings, was dying, and what do you think, with her very last breath she looked me in the face, and said she 'forgave' me."

"What!"

Mr. Day leaned forward with astonishment on his features.

Mr. Forbes half arose from his chair, and then fell back heavily.

Before he spoke again Mr. Denton began pacing the office floor. He was becoming more and more disturbed as he continued his recital.

"They tell me that girl has been with us six years, and that she has never lost a day except from sickness. She was a consumptive always—inherited it from her mother—but in spite of it, she had to work to support herself and a brother. She was getting ten dollars a week at the time she died, yet the cashier tells me that her checks for one hour alone have frequently amounted to twenty dollars. I tell you, this bit of information has set me to thinking, and the outcome of my thoughts is a simple question: 'Are we men or brutes?' That is what I want to know, and as it concerns you two as well as me, I'm going to ask you to answer it!"

There was the silence of death in the superintendent's office. Even Mr. Denton stood perfectly still as he asked his question.

Suddenly Mr. Day raised his head with a little jerk. His cheeks became inflated as he tried to assume his usual bearing.

"It is possible we have been a little thoughtless," he said sweetly, "but our subordinates should attend to these matters; that is what they are paid for."

Mr. Forbes wheeled around in his chair and faced the speaker.

"I have hired no subordinates on that basis," he said distinctly. "My orders have been to get all the work possible out of a clerk, and when they were incompetent or in any way useless, turn them out and get new ones, and I believe that I have acted with the full consent of my partners."

Mr. Day looked crestfallen for about a minute.

"Oh, if you put it that way, why, of course, Mr. Forbes. We could not expect to sell our goods with a lot of dummies behind our counters."

"We've had worse than 'dummies,'" spoke up Mr. Denton. "We've had skeletons and lunatics and almost corpses! Just go down and look at them, men, women and children! There's not ten healthy human beings on any floor in the building; yet they came to us, many of them, glowing with health, like Miss Marvin."

"Are they worse than at other stores?" asked Mr. Day, sullenly.

"I don't know," was the answer; "but that doesn't matter."

"They get their pay regularly," said Mr. Forbes. "Further, we do not solicit their services, nor compel them to stay with us."

"No; we merely take advantage of their wretched conditions to secure their services cheap," said Mr. Denton bitterly; "then instead of bettering their lot we grind them lower and lower, until at last they die either forgiving or cursing us."

There was another silence more oppressive than the first; then Mr. Day rose slowly and started to leave the office.

"We are exciting ourselves foolishly, I think," he said loftily; "neither you nor I, my partners, can hope to remedy the conditions of labor."

He closed the door softly, and was free from the unpleasant atmosphere of the office.

As he did so, a young girl stepped out of the elevator and walked directly to the door which he had just closed behind him. He turned and looked at her—she was as a saint. Almost instinctively it came to him what his partner had said, that she was "not afraid of work and was honestly religious."

"Pshaw! What nonsense!" he muttered. "Think of our patterning after a saint! It is strange how death will upset some men, but they'll get over it when they hear the money jingling!"

He opened the door to his private office just as a boy came upstairs with a message from Mr. Gibson.

"Mr. Watkins was taken to the hospital last night," it read; "are we expected to do anything? There's a reporter from the Herald."

"I'll send down the answer in a moment," he said to the boy, "or, wait; tell Mr. Gibson to say that we are looking into the case, and if our employee is found to be deserving he will be cared for by the firm. The reporter can call again if he wishes anything further."

With the note in his hand he went back to the superintendent's office.



CHAPTER XVIII.

FAITH BECOMES AN OBJECT OF JEALOUSY.

As Mr. Day opened the office door with the message in his hand, he hesitated for a moment, in something like bewilderment.

Faith Marvin was standing before his partners with a paper in her hand, and just as he entered she was speaking eagerly. "We would be so thankful if you would do this, gentlemen—even for half a day, if you cannot spare a whole one. You see, poor Miss Jennings has no family, only a crippled brother, so we clerks are really her brothers and sisters. She was a dear, good girl; so patient and resigned. If we could lay her in the grave ourselves it would be a sweet and solemn pleasure."

She turned from one of the men to the other with her appealing glance, even including Mr. Day as he stood irresolute upon the threshold.

Mr. Forbes was the first to recover his voice. The girl's appearance and the petition had made them both dumb for a minute.

"It can't be done, Miss Marvin," he said, curtly. "It would be establishing a precedent; isn't it so, Mr. Denton?"

"But surely, Mr. Forbes, such a precedent would do no harm!" cried Faith quickly. "Poor Mary is the first clerk who has died in the store, you know. It isn't at all likely that there will be any others."

Mr. Forbes stared at her curiously. He was not exactly angry. As she stood supplicatingly before him, she was radiantly beautiful.

"Why not have it in the evening?" suggested Mr. Denton. He had found his voice at last, and came to the superintendent's rescue.

"The girls are so tired at night," said Faith, sighing. "I thought of that—but it did not seem advisable."

"We might arrange for a few of you to be away on that day. Surely, you were not all Miss Jennings' friends; there is no excuse for the whole store going into mourning."

Mr. Forbes spoke decidedly and with a little of his old crustiness. The spell of the girl's magnetism was beginning to leave him.

"That would mean extra work for the clerks who remained," was Faith's desperate answer, "and poor Mary would be the first to object to that. Their duties are hard enough now. Oh, no, sir; I am sure that would not be thought of for a minute. If there is work to be done, we will all stay and do it, but if you only would relieve us for a few hours, we would be deeply grateful."

"It wouldn't do at all, Mr. Forbes!"

Mr. Day spoke, if anything, more pompously than ever. "Pardon me, but we have lost one day this week. We can't afford another."

"That settles it," said the superintendent, wheeling around in his chair. "You will please return to your duties, Miss Marvin; we cannot allow your petition."

Faith walked slowly from the office with the tears springing to her eyes. Before she reached the ribbon counter a floor walker stepped up to her. She had never seen him before, but recognized him at once as the Mr. Gunning whom she had heard the girls say belonged in that department, but was away just then upon a short vacation.

"You have been gone more than fifteen minutes, No. 411," he said, sharply. "Hurry over to your counter; Miss Fairbanks wishes to see you."

Faith looked at him timidly. He was a silly looking young man who wore a flaming red necktie and curled the ends of his mustache.

"Another tyrant," thought Faith, but she only bowed respectfully. Already in her short term of service she was getting used to tyrants.

"I am going to put you in Miss Jennings' place for a day or two," was the buyer's greeting. "I am short of girls, so you will have to do. Miss Jones will tell you what you don't know about the stock, and I hope you'll be very careful in your measurement of the ribbon."

"I will do my best," said Faith, very sadly. She was soon standing behind the counter, a full-fledged saleswoman. For some reason there had been nothing said about the half day that she had lost, but Faith knew only too well that she would be heavily fined for her absence. Still, it was better than being discharged. She accepted the alternative thankfully.

If Bob Hardy was in the store he kept out of the ribbon department, for Faith looked around for him nervously several times, and was greatly relieved when she did not see him.

Once she overheard two cash girls talking about the robbery in the office, and as they mentioned the name of Watkins she paused involuntarily and listened.

"They say he's got brain fever," said one of the girls. "Well, I'd think he'd be crazy with all that's happened."

"It must be awful," said the other girl. "Why, his brother was only a kid, and, to think, he stole five hundred dollars!"

Faith almost gasped for breath at this information.

She tried to speak to the girl, but her lips and tongue seemed palsied. She understood now what poor Mr. Watkins had suffered, and to think she had distrusted him—even for one brief second!

Several times during the forenoon she saw Maggie Brady watching her, and the hatred in her eyes was too plain for Faith not to see and understand thoroughly.

Her first thought was to see Maggie and explain her conversation with James Denton, but she thought better of it later, and decided to keep silent. Miss Fairbanks was plainly upset and nervous. She scolded the girls constantly, and seemed irritated beyond measure. Whether Mr. Gunning's presence was responsible for this nervousness Faith could not tell, but it was plain that the two were on bad terms with each other.

On the other hand, Mr. Gunning had many friends in the department. Miss Jones smiled at him frequently, as did several of the others.

Faith was standing erect behind her counter when a sharp-looking woman came up. She began asking to see ribbons of various widths and colors. Faith tried to wait upon her as rapidly as possible, but as she was not familiar with the stock, she got sadly muddled.

"How long have you been here?" asked the woman suddenly.

"Only about two hours at this counter," said Faith, sadly. "I am very sorry, but I am afraid I have not waited on you properly."

"Do you mean that you are a new girl altogether?" asked the woman.

Faith glanced up innocently, and saw both Miss Fairbanks and the floorwalker scowling at her.

As quick as their eyes met Miss Fairbanks made a signal. It was as plain as day. Faith was to answer no questions.

The woman was looking at her with her shrewd, sharp eyes.

"Well, why don't you answer?" she asked, half smilingly.

"I was a packer for two days," said Faith very softly. She could see no reason why she should not answer the question.

As the woman moved away from the counter every eye in the department followed her, and Faith noticed how alert all the girls were to wait upon her.

As soon as she disappeared Miss Fairbanks rushed up to Faith.

"What did she ask you?" she questioned breathlessly; "and what did you tell her?"

Faith repeated the conversation in open-eyed wonder. When she had finished Miss Fairbanks breathed a sigh of relief, but her face was still clouded. "I guess they won't blame me for putting in a green girl," she said slowly. "Anyway, there was no one else. I'm awfully short-handed as it is."

"We ain't to blame if they don't give us help enough," remarked Mr. Gunning, savagely. "This firm is too stingy to keep a full force of clerks. Still, if one of them is sick or dies, there's always a row about changes."

"Well, if she feels like it, she'll report, and that will mean trouble," said Miss Fairbanks, sighing; "but perhaps she won't. There are some good-hearted ones among them."

"Who was she?" asked Faith as soon as she got the opportunity.

"Only one of Denton, Day & Co.'s spies," was the answer. "They are better known in the business as 'Private Shoppers.'"

Faith looked aghast at this information.

"Didn't you ever hear of them before?" asked Miss Jones, coming up. "Why, every store has them; they are a part of the system."

"Do explain!" cried Faith; "I am still in the dark. Do you mean that that woman was a regular detective?"

"Oh, Lord, no; she wasn't a detective at all! She's a spy, I tell you, the genuine article! Her principal work is to trot around in other stores and learn all she can about their 'specials' and prices, and get all the information possible in order to keep her employers posted on what their rivals are doing, and besides that she is expected to prowl around this store at irregular intervals, and we are not supposed to know that she isn't a legitimate customer. She asks questions and pumps and finds out all we know; then she makes us take down all our goods and put them all back, just to see if we are in the habit of keeping our tempers. Oh, she can make life miserable for us if she chooses! A bit of indifference on our part, and up a report goes, straight to the superintendent, and we get bally-hoo from the buyer shortly after! I tell you, we've got to be saints to keep our jobs in this place, but once in awhile, when we get the chance we let out on some safe party—that's the way we square ourselves. We can't always be angels."

"I've got a lot to learn," said Faith with a sigh, "but I shall always be civil and attentive to my customers, so I don't think I shall have much to fear from that particular direction." At just that moment a messenger boy came along the aisle. He had come from outside, and was looking for some one.

"Who is it? What do you want?" asked Mr. Gunning, going forward.

"Miss Faith Marvin," said the boy, loudly. "I have a package for her."

Faith looked up in surprise, as she heard the words. She signed the boy's ticket automatically, and accepted the package.

As she did so, a card dropped from under the cord with which it was tied.

Maggie Brady, who was watching her closely, sprang forward and snatched it up in an instant. As she laid it on the counter she fairly trembled with rage.

She had read the words which were written on the card.

They were simply: "To Miss Marvin, with the compliments of Jas. T. Denton."



CHAPTER XIX.

FAITH GETS ACQUAINTED WITH THE THIEF.

It was impossible for any one to see Maggie Brady's face without reading in it how much she hated the girl who she thought had stolen her lover from her. Miss Fairbanks turned on her heel and walked away laughing, while several of the clerks began jeering Maggie quietly.

"You are not the only pebble on the beach; did you think you were, Mag? There are others, you see! Why, you're not one, two, three in Jim Denton's good graces!"

"Off with the old and on with the new! There's no one proves the truth of that proverb oftener than a certain young man I could mention! However, Maggie, don't throw up the sponge! You've got the first claim on Jim Denton—why don't you let him know it?"

Faith listened to these words in utter amazement. She was distressed beyond measure that this unfortunate thing should have happened.

She was glad enough when a number of customers came in. She was beginning to dread these occasional lulls in business. Maggie Brady had not said a word in reply to any of the taunts, but her face had paled until the two spots of rouge on her cheeks gave her a ghastly look that was positively shocking.

Faith felt so sorry for the girl that she did not know what to do, but there was no time to waste in thinking, for she was being addressed by a customer.

"My dear, can you tell me where that young lady is—Number 89, I think, they called her. She waited on me so nicely the other day that I would like to see her again if there is no objection."

Before she had finished speaking Faith had recognized her. It was the kind old lady whom Miss Jennings had dragged behind the counter during the excitement about the fire. She had said at that time that she would not forget her.

Faith's ready tears had already sprung into her eyes, but she managed to tell the good woman what had happened.

When she finished speaking the lady looked terribly grieved. She could not speak for a moment—she was so shocked and indignant.

"That settles my shopping in this place any more," she said finally. "I will not trade in a store where my sister women are so badly treated."

Faith saw her opportunity, so she hurriedly told her about the petition, and how the house that had closed its doors because a son of the junior partner died would not spare half a day to let its employees attend the funeral of a comrade.

"What a shame!" said the lady, carefully lowering her voice. "What a pity that the public should not know of all these things. I am sure it would result in their losing many customers."

"If there was only some way to make them more considerate," said Faith sadly, "and I am sure there is—I am praying for them daily."

"Dear, dear, you don't say!" said the lady, a little surprised. "Why, it is strange that I did not think of that before, for I am accustomed to going to the Lord with everything!"

"Oh, I am so glad to hear that!" cried Faith impetuously. "Then you will help me to pray for the firm that employs me! It may be that God will touch their hearts. We must do our best and then be patient."

"You are a brave young girl and a wise one," said the lady. "Many who are much older than you have not learned that lesson."

The customers were beginning to push and crowd about the counter, so the old lady went away to allow Faith to wait upon them. As she left the department, Mr. Gunning bowed to her politely.

"One of our best customers," he remarked to Miss Fairbanks as he passed her.

At luncheon time there was none of the usual laughter in the cloak-room. The girls were all thinking of Miss Jennings and talked almost in whispers. In a very few minutes Faith saw a young woman come in. It was the girl who had stolen the piece of jewelry on the day of the fire and for whom Miss Jennings had pleaded so successfully.

When Faith saw her she felt a thrill to the very tips of her fingers. It was a thrill of thankfulness that she had not denied the dead girl's request to show mercy to the poor sinner who had been so wronged by her parents.

As soon as she could she walked over and stood by the girl. She was a sallow brunette but her features were regular and delicate.

"Do you mind my talking to you a little?" Faith asked softly. "You see, I know almost no one in the store except Miss Jennings, and now that she is gone I am very lonely."

"Why, no, I don't mind your talking to me, why should I? I guess it ain't necessary to wait for an introduction. Got anything in particular you want to say to me?"

The girl's answer was prompt, but not at all unpleasant.

"Oh, no; that is, not now," said Faith very quickly. "I just want to get acquainted. You know I could see you plainly when I was a packer and, well, I liked your looks and that's about all there is to it."

While she was speaking, Faith was conscious of a change in the girl's face. She was evidently trying to read her to see if there was anything behind this desire for an acquaintance.

Faith tried to smile brightly as she looked into her eyes. She knew that she must win this girl's friendship if she wished to help her.

"Let's sit down here," said the young woman shortly. "I like this corner; it's lighter than the others."

They both sat down and opened their baskets, and while they hurriedly swallowed their luncheon, they talked a little.

"My name is Faith Marvin and I have Miss Jennings' place at present at the ribbon counter. I wrote that petition that you signed this morning. Isn't it too bad that the firm will not grant us that sacred privilege of accompanying our dead friend to her last resting place?"

Faith had introduced herself as well as she could, and now waited for her companion to follow her example.

"My name is Lou Willis and I hate funerals," said the girl. "I can't see why in the world you ever wrote that petition."

The words startled Faith; they were so sharp and unfeeling.

"Why—you signed the petition," she said after a minute.

"Oh, of course I signed it, but can't you see why, you ninny? If we get a day off I'll go somewhere on a lark! You don't catch this chicken attending any funerals."

Faith was so shocked this time that she could not speak, but the girl rattled on without apparently noticing it.

"I'm not one of your milk and water Sunday school girls! If I ever get religious at all I'll join the Salvation Army! Do you know that's a great scheme, that Salvation Army? You get six dollars a week and your husband picked out for you. Really, that's a great inducement, Marvin, when you come to think of it! I'd never be able to pick out a husband myself. I'm what they call too—too—oh—you know—fickle!"

Faith forgot to eat, she was so astonished. This was a type of woman that she had never dreamed of. Was she joking or serious? Faith could not decide. As she sat pondering and staring, her companion went on talking calmly.

"That Maggie Brady has it in for you, they tell me—but say, for goodness sake, how did you manage to cut her out with Jim Denton? Why, he's been sweet on Mag for at least three months, and that's a long time for Jim. I really began to think he was serious."

She paused to take a mouthful of bread and butter, so Faith attempted to speak. The words came slowly, for she was a little uncertain how to say them. "I am sorry if Miss Brady does not like me, I am sure. But you are wrong, Miss Willis. I have not 'cut her out' with Mr. Denton. On the contrary, I have never spoken to the young man but once, and that was yesterday, when he suggested that I write that petition."

"But he sent you a package to-day," said the girl, staring. "He must be badly smitten to be sending presents in such a hurry."

"It was only a box of candy," said Faith, hastily. "I gave it to one of the cash girls. I don't understand what made him send it."

"You must be silly if you don't," said the girl, laughing harshly.

At just that instant Maggie Brady passed close by them, and Miss Willis seeing her, raised her voice a little.

"Why, he is in love with you, of course," she said, with one eye on Maggie. "If he wasn't he wouldn't be sending you boxes of candy."

"Hush!" cried Faith. "You are cruel! How could you, Miss Willis!"

For answer the girl broke into peals of laughter.

"Oh, I just love Mag Brady—that's why I said it I Can't you see for yourself how much I love her?"



CHAPTER XX.

ANOTHER TALK WITH JAMES DENTON.

Poor Faith was driven to desperation now. Here was a situation far beyond her wisdom.

That the girl was a petty thief amounted to almost nothing beside her viciousness and animosity toward her fellow beings.

Faith was sorely puzzled over what to say, and while she was trying to collect her scattered wits Miss Willis poured out a little more of her venom.

"If there's a girl in this place I hate it's Mag Brady," she said candidly, "and she knows it, you bet! I haven't tried to conceal it! I'm different from Mag, I hit straight out from the shoulder! She's a sneak and a coward; she'll wait till it's dark before she fights you! You see you haven't been out in the world long enough to read people yet, but I have, I'm a regular veteran in the army of evil."

She laughed loudly as she finished, as though her words were highly amusing. To be experienced in the ways of evil seemed to her to be the highest possible recommendation.

"I hope I shall never know any more about sin than I do now," said Faith soberly, "but really, I seem to be learning more and more every day."

"It won't hurt you," responded her companion patronizingly. "You've got to hold your own, you know; if you don't you go to the bottom. The world is full of sharks and so is this store. The sooner you find it out the better it will be for you."

Faith saw that the girl was growing serious now. What she said was intended to be for Faith's good; whether it was good advice or not, it was the best she had to offer.

"Hello!" cried Miss Willis suddenly. "Do my eyes deceive me, or is that really a plumber that I see over in that corner?"

She raised her voice so that every one heard her, and a clerk in the opposite corner made haste to answer her:

"That's what it is all right, Lou, a real, live plumber! The Board of Health has come to its senses at last, and, thanks to that Government Inspector, we are going to have some 'modern improvements.'"

"I hope we'll have basins enough to go around," cried another voice, "and perhaps there'll be an occasional glimpse of a really clean towel."

"Oh, you mustn't expect too much," answered the plumber, laughing. "I only got orders to do a little puttering. It's just a bluff they are chucking; it won't cost them much if nothin'."

"Which means that you can't get rich all at once!" cried Miss Willis, grinning. "Well, I'm sorry you can't squeeze a fairly good sum out of our nice, generous employers."

Faith went back to her counter, feeling sad at heart. She was beginning to question the wisdom of her mercy toward Miss Willis.

"I don't believe that anything would ever change her heart," she whispered to herself, and then a great wave of shame swept over her as she felt that she had questioned the power of the Almighty.

She stepped behind the counter just in time to see Miss Fairbanks changing the prices on a lot of special ribbons, but before she could ask any questions Miss Jones came up to her.

"There's a milliner in this block who is selling those same ribbons for fifty cents a yard," she said, "and of course, Denton, Day & Co. are not going to stand that; they are going to undercut her in everything until they break up her business. You see, if we sell them for thirty-nine cents, she'll have to come down, which will mean that she'll lose a whole lot of money."

"But won't Denton, Day & Co. be losing money, too?" asked Faith. She was a little too green to quite see the logic of this action.

"Not a cent," was the somewhat surprising answer. "You see, they buy in such large quantities that they get it cheaper than she does; but even if they didn't, they could still make it up on some other goods, while she, poor soul, has no way of squaring her losses."

Faith's eyes opened wide as she listened to this explanation.

"That is exactly what they did with my father," she said slowly. "They undercut his prices so that he could not sell his books, then when his bills came due he could not pay them. Oh, the thing is perfectly horrible, Miss Jones! That poor, poor milliner! Oh, how I pity her!"

Miss Jones had listened with considerable surprise. It was the first she had heard of Faith's personal grievance against the company.

Things moved along quietly after that, and Faith was kept very busy, but through the whole afternoon she was thinking of that ribbon. Every time a roll of it was sold a weight seemed added to her burdens. When she was obliged to sell it herself she felt that she was personally perpetrating a wrong on the milliner.

It was a terrible day, taken altogether, for so much misery and anxiety were crowded into it that she felt ten years older when the gong sounded for closing.

"Can you tell me what hospital Mr. Watkins was taken to, dear?" she asked of one of the little cash girls whom she had heard talking in the morning.

"Don't know," said the child. "I didn't hear. But he's pretty near dead, I guess, and his brother is a thief. He—"

"Hush, child!" cried Faith, quickly. "Don't talk about that, please! It can't do any good, and—and perhaps some one has been mistaken! It's better to say nothing! until one knows for sure. Poor Mr. Watkins! He is indeed in sore trouble!"

"Mr. Watkins is resting very comfortably, Miss Marvin," said a voice just behind her. She turned around quickly and confronted young Denton.

"Oh, have you seen him?" asked Faith, in genuine delight.

"I just dropped in at the office; they wouldn't let me see him," was the answer; "but I learned that there was a chance for him—he was what they call 'comfortable.'"

"I am glad to hear that," said Faith, moving slowly away. They had been standing at the head of the stairs which led down to the cloak-room, and she expected every minute that Maggie Brady would see them.

"Don't go just yet, Miss Marvin," urged Mr. Denton, hastily. "I've just arranged about that funeral; it is to be to-morrow evening."

"Where?" asked Faith softly.

"At the undertaker's," was the answer. "He has a private room for just such purposes. He will bury her the next morning."

"That will be better than I thought," said Faith, very slowly. "I will tell all the girls I know and ask them to tell the others."

"Here's the programme or whatever you choose to call it," said Mr. Denton, sneering a little. "The firm got ahead of us this time, Miss Marvin."

He held out an evening paper as he spoke so that Faith could see it.

With a cry of horror the young girl read the headline. It was a regular "scare head," reaching across two full columns: "Denton, Day & Co.'s Generosity to an Employee!" "A Poor Girl's Funeral That Will Cost the Firm a Large Sum of Money!"

"How's that for hypocrisy?" asked the young man, still sneering. "I say, Miss Marvin, how would you like to be the child of such a father?"

For the first time in her life Faith could not rebuke disrespect. In spite of herself she could not help sympathizing with the sentiments of the young fellow.

"Oh, it is terrible!" she whispered in a heart-broken voice. "Poor Miss Jennings would rather have been buried in 'Potter's Field,' I really believe, than under such conditions!"

"Well, I'm mighty disgusted," said young Denton, bitterly, "although I'm sure I don't know what's got into me to care about it!"

"I guess you never knew just how you felt before," said Faith sweetly. "Sometimes it takes a shock of some kind to bring us to our senses."

"Well, I'm shocked all right," said young Denton, quickly. "Why, when dad told me about that dying girl saying so distinctly that she forgave him, it went through me like a knife! Cut me up worse, I believe, than it did the Governor!"

"Did it really disturb your father?" asked Faith, very eagerly.

"I should say it did!" remarked Mr. Denton, soberly. "Why, the man can't eat nor sleep! I believe her spirit is haunting him!"



CHAPTER XXI.

A CHANGE IN MR. DENTON.

"Well, Hardy what have you found out about the Watkins family? Something satisfactory, I hope!"

Mr. Forbes spoke to the detective with unusual good nature.

But Hardy closed the office door and advanced to the desk where the superintendent was sitting.

"On the contrary, sir; I have found things very unsatisfactory," was his answer. "Watkins is in the hospital, half dead from brain fever, his mother is a feeble old woman without a penny, and as for that young scamp who stole your money, he's among the missing—he's vamoosed entirely!"

"Well, why don't you find him?" asked Mr. Forbes, a little less pleasantly. "That's what I told you to do! Didn't you understand my orders?"

"I haven't had time to find him," muttered the detective, sullenly. "He's been spirited away. I think he's out of the city."

"So you see no way of getting back that three hundred dollars. Well, there's got to be a way! We can't afford to lose it!"

"Lose what?" asked Mr. Denton, coming in just then.

Mr. Forbes hastily repeated the detective's information.

"You say the mother is penniless and young Watkins critically ill? Well, I should think that was trouble enough for one family," said Mr. Denton slowly. "Mr. Forbes, it is my wish that you should stop right here! I wish you to drop the matter of the money completely."

"What!"

Mr. Forbes wheeled around in his chair and stared at his partner.

"I mean it," said Mr, Denton, "and, what is more, I command it! As senior partner of this firm I expect my orders to be respected!"

Mr. Forbes made a heroic effort at self-control. When he could trust his voice he attempted to answer.

"Perhaps you have forgotten, Mr. Denton, that we are drawing on our funds very heavily this week. There are those alterations in the basement to satisfy the Board of Health and two hundred dollars for that Miss Jennings' funeral. Neither of these expenses would have been incurred if I had not been absent so much of late; but is it wise, do you think, to add to these the three hundred that Sam Watkins robbed us of?"

Mr. Denton seemed to ignore the last half of the sentence. His mind was dwelling upon the other things mentioned.

"What I have not forgotten, Mr. Forbes, is this," he said, quietly: "That funeral that you speak of has given us one of the biggest free 'ads.' that this firm has ever enjoyed. Why, the space it occupies in one paper alone is worth at least a thousand dollars! And, so far as the alterations are concerned—well, I have just ordered them stopped. I'm going to close up that room to employees altogether!"

If the sky had fallen Mr. Forbes could not have been any more surprised. Even the hardened detective almost gasped in astonishment.

"But you have no right to do this," growled Mr. Forbes. "You should consult your partners in such matters, Mr. Denton."

Mr. Denton smiled grimly at the angry man's words.

"You are partners, nominally, yes," he said slowly, "but I hardly think it would pay either you or Mr. Day to oppose me."

His words were very true, as Mr. Forbes well knew. Both he and Mr. Day were deeply indebted to their senior partner. He "owned them body and soul," as many persons would express it.

"I have been doing a lot of thinking in the past two days, Mr. Forbes," went on Mr. Denton, "but as you would hardly appreciate my sentiments, I will keep my thoughts to myself a little longer. Here, Hardy, you are excused from the Watkins affair! Go back to your duties in the store, and see that you are very careful not to annoy any innocent persons."

Bob Hardy made his way out of the office almost in a daze. He had been in the service of the store ever since it was opened, but such instructions as these meant a brand-new departure.

"I wonder what the deuce has got into him, anyway," he muttered. "He talks like a man that's got struck with religion!"

As he walked slowly down the stairs to the first floor of the building he met a brother detective, who stared at him curiously.

"What's the matter, Hardy? Look's if you'd had a shock! Been havin' a set-to with old Forbes, I'll bet a dollar!"

"You're wrong," was Hardy's answer. "It was the old man this time. There's something wrong with the boss. I think he's getting religion!"

"Get out! You don't mean it!" said the other fellow, contemptuously.

"Don't I?" said Hardy. "Well, you just listen to this!"

He repeated the conversation that had just taken place in the superintendent's office.

"Whew! That does sound like it!" said his companion, whose name was Ben Tyler. "He's off his trolley completely, especially about the money!"

"Well, that makes two trow-downs I've got this week," said Hardy, sourly, "but I got the fifty from that masher that I was telling you about! You remember, the swell that calls himself Captain Deering?"

"Yes, I remember," laughed Tyler. "So he caught his bird, did he, or, rather, you caught her for him!"

"I guess it worked all right," said Hardy, slowly. "He met her and talked with her, and that's usually enough. Still, he was glum as an oyster when he gave me the money."

"Mr. Hardy," called a voice at the foot of the stairs. "Come down, quick; you are wanted! There's a shop-lifter over in the hosiery department!"

Mr. Hardy stopped long enough to hear the words, then he made his way directly to the department mentioned.

He paused at the counter and began examining some goods, and as he did so one of the clerks came up to him as though she expected to wait on him.

"Is this the one?" muttered the detective under his breath, at the same time making a slight motion toward the woman.

"Can't say," whispered the clerk. "I just missed the goods. There were six pairs of hose—they all went together."

Hardy glanced again at the woman, whose face was drawn and haggard. She was by far the poorest customer at the counter.

"'Taint's no use tacklin' them others," he whispered to the clerk, "for if I ever nabbed a rich one she'd make things lively for me—but I guess it's the poor one that's got 'em, anyway."

"She looks desperate," answered the clerk, leaning over the counter. "And, you know, she could sell 'em and make a little something."

Hardy nodded knowingly, with his keen glance still on the woman. As she moved slowly away from the counter he followed her at a distance.

Five minutes later she had reached the ribbon department. As she stopped at the counter Faith went forward to wait on her.

"I would like a yard of white ribbon, miss," said the poor woman timidly. "This cheap ribbon, please, for I haven't much money. It's to go on the shroud of a poor dead neighbor."

Faith measured the ribbon quickly and made out a check. As she turned for the woman's money she smiled at her pleasantly.

The next moment Bob Hardy stepped forward and tapped the woman on the shoulder.

"You are wanted in the office, madam," he said, very rudely. "You've been stealing goods in the store, and have got them in your pocket!"

With a cry of terror the poor woman looked up into his face.

"It is false!" she cried wildly. "I never stole a penny's worth in my life! Oh, miss, don't let him touch me! I'm an honest woman!"

In a second Faith darted from her place behind the counter. When she reached the aisle she threw her arms around the woman.

"Stand back, Bob Hardy! Don't you dare to touch her!" she cried, sharply. "Are you so blinded with wickedness that you can't see she is honest?"



CHAPTER XXII.

THE BEGINNING OF THE HARVEST.

As Faith wrapped her arms around the woman Mr. Denton appeared in the department. He was just in time to hear her ringing question.

There were a dozen or more customers standing around the counters, and they all stood staring in wide-eyed astonishment.

Mr. Denton saw that something must be done at once. It would never do to have a scene like this in the store, for, besides stopping business, it was productive of mischief.

In an instant he realized that he had to deal with Faith, for the woman was clinging to the girl and imploring her protection.

He went forward at once and spoke as calmly as possible.

"Take her up to the office, Miss Marvin, and quiet her if you can. She shall not be harmed. I have no doubt she is innocent."

"And I know she isn't," blurted out Hardy, angrily. He was frantic to think that the woman might escape him.

"Well, whether she is or not, she will be treated kindly," said Mr. Denton. "So use your power to make her go quietly, Miss Marvin."

As he said these words he looked straight at Faith, and the thankfulness in her eyes repaid him in an instant.

"Come, my friend," she said sweetly. "Come with me to the office. There is nothing to be afraid of. You will only have to prove your innocence."

The woman checked her sobs and went willingly. Faith's manner had calmed her fears in great measure. Mr. Hardy followed them to make his accusations, and Mr. Denton led them all to his own private office. As soon as they were there a woman detective was sent for, and the supposed shop-lifter was taken behind a screen and searched thoroughly.

While this was being done Faith was bursting with indignation.

"Just think of an innocent person being subjected to such an outrage!" she cried. "Oh, Mr. Denton, is there not some other way to do this?"

"I wish there was," said that gentleman shortly, "for our detective's mistakes have already cost us several thousand dollars."

"I don't wonder," said Faith. "A woman could hardly forgive such an insult, but your detective is capable of far worse, Mr. Denton; he is a very wicked man. I think it is my duty to denounce him."

If a thunder-bolt had fallen at his feet Hardy could hardly have been more astonished. He had not dreamed that the timid girl would dare tell what he had done, particularly as she had acquiesced, as he supposed, in his vile suggestion.

Mr. Denton glanced at her sharply, but she did not quail, although her cheeks were scarlet over the unpleasant remembrance.

"Eh! What has Hardy done? Tell me at once, Miss Marvin. You will never have a better time than when he is present to hear you."

"Oh, I would never tell it behind his back," said Faith. "I always deal fairly and squarely, even with my enemies."

As she spoke, she looked Hardy steadily in the eye. He saw that she would treat him justly, but with no mercy. It was a difficult matter for Faith to tell her tale, but she did it in a way that was absolutely convincing.

"And, oh, Mr. Denton," she cried in conclusion, "is it not enough that we girls have to work so hard without being subjected to such vile, unspeakable horrors?"

Mr. Denton put his hands to his temples and pressed them hard for a moment. The girl's words had overwhelmed him with the full sense of his negligence.

To be able to prevent all or many of these evils and then to be indifferent, thoughtless, neglectful. It had all come to him at once—while the girl was speaking, just as the first tinge of remorse had come when Miss Jennings was dying.

Hardy was standing like a statue, his face purple with anger. It was useless for him to speak. He was convicted without evidence.

Mr. Denton had not replied when the poor woman was led out. She had been searched thoroughly by the woman detective, but there were no stolen goods about her.

"That settles it, Hardy. Yon can go," said Mr. Denton wearily. "The cashier will pay you. I am done with your services."

"Oh no!"

Faith gave utterance to a pitiful cry. Hardy turned and glared at her a second and then left the office.

"Oh, I did not mean to get him discharged," groaned Faith. "Perhaps a little more mercy would have been far better."

"He deserves no mercy," said Mr. Denton, shortly. There was a decision in his words that was quite contrary to his nature.

The poor woman slipped away thankfully with a grateful smile at Faith, and she was left alone with Mr. Denton. It was the moment she had been praying for, and Faith did not intend to lose it Without a moment's hesitation she spoke softly to her employer.

"Please, Mr. Denton, may I say a few words more? They are not busy downstairs. I am sure they'll not need me."

"Say what you wish," was the answer, and Faith hurried on. Her very soul was on her lips as the words fell from them.

"There are so many things that might be done to improve the conditions for the girls—so much that would add to their happiness and comfort! And it would not take a penny from their sales, either, sir, for surely a clerk that is well and satisfied with her surroundings will be far more courteous to her customers as well as more loyal to her employers. If they could only sit down and rest now and then! It is awful to stand so many long hours. We grow faint and sick, and our backs ache terribly. Why, I have only been in the store a few days, yet last night I could not sleep, I was so lame and weary."

She paused for breath, and then hurried on. Mr. Denton had turned his face away, but was listening intently.

"There are all sorts and kinds of girls in the store, Mr. Denton; some are good and pure, while others are reckless and even vicious. Poor things, they have nothing: behind them but memories of sorrow, and there is nothing ahead of them but hard work and trouble. It seems to me God never meant us to have it so hard—if He had He would have made our nerves and our muscles stronger. I think he meant us to do our share of work in the world, but he made men to protect us from the real drudgery of life, whether they were our fathers, brothers, husbands or employers. Of course, I am only a child in years, but it has all been forced upon me by a single week in the store. I have seen more sorrow in three days than I ever dreamed of, and I am praying night and day to be able to relieve it."

She came to a dead stop with the tears choking her voice. The next instant Mr. Denton rose and patted her on the shoulder.

"Bless you, child, you have shown me my duty at last!" he said, hoarsely. "I have neglected it long enough, but, with the help of God, I will neglect it no longer."

Faith gave a cry of joy as she heard the words.

"Oh, my prayers have been answered, dear Mr. Denton!" she cried. "I have been begging God to let me be His torch-bearer on earth, to carry the light into the dark places where it is so much needed, to banish with its glow all the shadows of evil!"



CHAPTER XXIII.

MISS JENNINGS' FUNERAL.

The rest of the day passed very pleasantly to Faith. She was so over-joyed at Mr. Denton's expressions in the morning that it seemed as if nothing could depress her spirits. The "peace that passeth understanding," had come into her heart, and even Maggie Brady's glances of hatred failed to cause her more than a passing sorrow.

That evening she hurried home, and had tea with her mother; then, taking little Dick between them, they went to the undertaker's establishment to be present at the funeral of Miss Jennings. As they reached the place Faith was surprised to see Mr. Day. He was standing on the steps talking to two young men, whose appearance indicated that they were newspaper reporters.

Both Faith and her mother were heavily veiled, and as they mounted the steps it was apparent to Faith that she was not recognized by her employer. As they passed she heard him speaking in a most affable manner. There were only a few words, but they made Faith shudder.

"We hope this sad occurrence will prove beneficial to our employees," he said blandly, "for they are apt to be thoughtless in religious matters."

"Did you hear that, mother?" Faith whispered the question softly.

"He's a hypocrite," answered her mother, with a moan of horror. "Just think, Faith, he is one of the men who ruined your father."

The room in which the casket lay was well filled with young women, but not half of their faces were familiar to Faith, although she concluded rightfully that they had all known Miss Jennings.

"Can you sing, miss?" asked a gentleman in black whom Faith saw at once was the undertaker. "I have secured a minister, but they did not allow me for singers."

"I'll try," said Faith, with a sob in her throat. "I can sing some of the Moody and Sankey hymns if you think they will be suitable."

"One will do," said the gentleman. "Sing it right after the prayer. I expect the others will all join in if you select a familiar one."

Faith nodded her head and looked around the room again. She soon saw Miss Fairbanks, Miss Jones and one or two others with whom she had spoken during her brief period of service. Mr. Gibson came in just then with another reporter. The young man was taking down in shorthand what Mr. Gibson told him.

"It is the first death that has ever occurred in the store, and consequently the firm is much distressed over it," said Mr. Gibson. "They are remarkably considerate of their employees, and this poor girl was a consumptive; she was ill when we hired her."

"Do you pay all the expenses?" asked the reporter, without looking up.

"Certainly, certainly!" said Mr. Gibson. "The firm is extremely generous in all such matters."

The reporter left just as the minister entered. It was apparent that for some reason Mr. Gibson intended to remain as representative of the firm.

Poor little Dick cried miserably for the first few minutes, but he finally fell asleep on Mrs. Marvin's bosom.

After the clergyman had spoken a few simple words, and offered a fervent prayer, there was a moment of solemn, breathless silence. Some one entered softly. It was Mr. Denton. Faith had no opportunity to look at his face, for Mr. Davis, the undertaker, signaled her that it was time for the hymn.

Almost without realizing it the young girl rose and went over to the coffin. As she caught sight of the dead girl's face she seemed to receive an inspiration direct from heaven.

Her voice was a soft, sweet contralto, and had been carefully trained. As she sounded the first note the silence in the room seemed deeper than ever. Not a voice joined in to help her with the hymn, for the girls were all spell-bound at such unexpected music.

With her eyes bent lovingly on her dead friend's face, Faith finished the verse of the hymn she had selected, but as she reached the refrain she raised her eyes beseechingly, and her glance fell directly upon the bowed head of Mr. Denton.

"It profiteth nothing, and fearful the cost To gain the Whole world if thy soul shall be lost—"

The words rang from her lips like the peal of a bell. There was prayer, supplication, eagerness in every intonation.

As the last note died away several of the girls burst out crying, and Mr. Denton raised his head and looked at her.

Faith took her seat calmly. The inspiration had not left her. She felt lifted up in soul into a higher atmosphere, where there was no pain or sorrow—only tenderness and rejoicing.

The rest followed swiftly. The last farewell to the departed; with poor Dick moaning and sobbing, the ladies turned their footsteps homeward.

Faith caught a glimpse of Mr. Denton walking rapidly down the street. The next moment she heard her name spoken, and turned to greet Miss Dean, the store inspector.

"Am I too late?" asked Miss Dean, extending her hand cordially. "I was detained at the last moment. I intended being present at the funeral."

"I am sorry you were not," said Faith sincerely, then, after introducing her mother and little Dick, she made an eager communication.

"I really believe, Miss Dean, that poor Mary's death has accomplished great things! I am sure that Mr. Denton has felt it keenly, and that her dying words have awakened his sleeping conscience."

Miss Dean looked surprised, but did not reply, so Faith went on to tell why she thought so.

After she had related her conversation with Mr. Denton in the morning, the lady suddenly put her hand on her arm and looked at her searchingly.

"If you have accomplished that, you have indeed worked a miracle," she said, decidedly; "but deeds speak louder than words. We shall see how Mr. Denton puts his conversation into practice."

"Oh, that's it," said Mrs. Marvin, quickly. "Practice and precept are quite different things. Why, those men are all church members, do you know, Miss Dean; yet see how little their religion is allowed to influence their lives. It seems as if it was kept only for funerals and Sundays."

"That has been my observation in nearly every instance," said Miss Dean, slowly. "I have often said that if I could see a conscientious Christian I would be willing to give up some of my present theories."

"Do tell us one of your theories," said Mrs. Marvin. "I, too, am very bitter against hypocrisy in the church. I shall be glad if some one else feels the same as I do, for my daughter is constantly reproving me for my distrust and bitterness."

"Well, for one thing," said Miss Dean, "I think religion impracticable. No person can follow Christ and succeed in any line of business."

"I agree with you," exclaimed Mrs. Marvin, promptly. "The principles of Christianity oppose success at every turn. To be Christ-like one must always be poor, always weak and, consequently, always downtrodden."

"Your daughter does not believe that," said Miss Dean, smiling.

Faith was so in earnest when she answered that she stopped on the sidewalk and faced them.

"Is there any success greater than this," she asked, eagerly, "to earn those precious words from the lips of our Saviour, 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant,' and to receive at the end of life that joy everlasting that is promised to those who follow Him, even though they bear the cross of worldly failure?"