XIII. CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE.

Small as was the remuneration which Mrs. Codman received for sewing, she hoped, by great economy, to get along with the money which she already had on hand. But troubles never come singly, and of this she was destined to feel the full significance.

One morning she made up a bundle of completed work, and proceeded with it to the ready-made clothing store of Messrs. Sharp & Keene, her employers. It was a trial to one reared as Mrs. Codman had been, to come into contact with men who did not think it necessary to hide their native coarseness from one who made shirts for them at twenty cents apiece.

On the present occasion she was kept[119] waiting for some time, before her presence appeared to be noticed. At length, Sharp nodded to her from the desk.

"Ahem! Mrs. Wiggins," commenced Sharp.

"Codman, sir," corrected the one addressed.

"Well, the name don't signify, I suppose. How many shirts have you got there?"

"Half a dozen, sir."

"Half a dozen at twenty cents apiece make a dollar and twenty cents. Present this card at the other desk, and you will be paid."

He scratched on a card "6 shirts—$1.20," and handed to her, at the same time calling, in a loud voice, "Here, Thomas, pay Mrs. Wigman a dollar and twenty cents."

"Codman, sir."

"It seems to me you are mighty particular about your name."

"Shall I have more work?" asked Mrs. Codman, with some anxiety.

"Well, not at present. Business is dull just now. Nothing doing, and won't be for some time to come."

"How long before you can probably give[120] me something to do?" inquired Mrs. Codman, apprehensively.

"Can't say," was the careless reply. "It may be a month, or six weeks. You can call round in four or five weeks."

"What am I to do between now and then?" thought the poor woman, her heart sinking.

She must get something to do. She could not live otherwise, more especially since the rise in the rent, and her resources had been so largely diminished by the withdrawal of Charlie's services.

She applied at several other shops which she passed on the way home, but found, in every case, that they were already overrun with applications, and in the slack of business would be compelled to discharge some of those at present employed.

But the hour is the darkest that's just before day, and when fortune has done its worst, oftentimes the tide turns, and affairs improve.

So it proved with Mrs. Codman.

On reaching home, not a little depressed at[121] the idea of remaining inactive, when she stood so much in need of the proceeds of her labor, Mrs. Codman had scarcely removed her bonnet and shawl, when she heard a knock at her door.

In answer to her "Come in," the door opened, and the washer-woman, who roomed just above, entered.

"How do you do, Mrs. O'Grady?" said Mrs. Codman.

"I am very well, Miss Codman, and I hope it's the same wid yerself. Have you heard anything of the swate boy that was lost?"

"Nothing," was the sad reply.

"Cheer up, then, Miss Codman. He'll be coming back bimeby, wid his pockets full of gold, so that you won't have to work any more."

"I am afraid that I shall not be able to work any more at present," returned Mrs. Codman.

"And what for not? Is it sick that ye are?"

Mrs. Codman related the want of success which she had met with in procuring work.[122] She also mentioned Peter's visit and the increased rent.

"Just like him, the old spalpeen!" broke out Mrs. O'Grady, indignantly. "He wants to squeeze the last cint out of us poor folks, and it don't do him any good neither. I'd be ashamed if Mr. O'Grady wint about dressed as he does. But may be, Miss Codman, I'll get you a chance that'll take you out of his reach, the mane ould rascal!"

"You get me a chance! What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Codman, turning with surprise to her Hibernian friend and defender.

"I'll tell ye, only jist sit down, for it may take me some time."

This was Mrs. O'Grady's explanation, which it may be better to abridge, for the good lady was wont to be somewhat prolix and discursive in her narratives.

It seems she had been employed, at sundry times, in the house of a Mr. Bowman, a wealthy merchant living on Mt. Vernon Street. This gentleman had lost his wife some months before. The only child arising[123] from this union was a daughter, about ten years of age. Her father did not like schools, either public or private, for a child of her years, and preferred that his daughter, for the present, should be educated at home. Hitherto she had been left pretty much to herself, and had never been willing to apply herself to study.

Mr. Bowman was now looking out for a suitable governess for his daughter, and it had struck Mrs. O'Grady—who, though ignorant and uncultivated herself, was sharp-sighted enough to detect the marks of education and refinement in another—that Mrs. Codman would suit him.

So Mrs. O'Grady, in her zeal, made bold to intimate to the servants, through whom it reached Mr. Bowman, that she knew a sweet lady who would be just the one for a governess for the young lady.

Now the recommendation of an Irish washer-woman may not be considered the most valuable in an affair of this kind; but it so happened that the suggestion reached Mr. Bowman at a time when he was so oppressed[124] with business cares that he did not know how to spare the time necessary to seek out a governess. He accordingly summoned Mrs. O'Grady to a conference, and asked some hasty questions of her, which she answered by such a eulogistic account of Mrs. Codman, whose condescending kindness had quite won her heart, that Mr. Bowman desired her to request Mrs. Codman to call upon him the next day at a stated hour.

"So you see, Miss Codman," concluded the warmhearted Irish woman, "that you're in luck, and all you've got to do is to call upon Mr. Bowman to-morrow, and you'll get a nice home, and won't have to work any more at your sewing."

Mrs. Codman did not at once reply.

"And won't you go?" asked Mrs. O'Grady, wondering at her silence.

"I think I will," said Mrs. Codman; "and I feel much obliged to you, my good friend, for saying a kind word for me, though I do not feel at all confident that I shall obtain this place."

"Niver fear for that," said the sanguine[125] washer-woman; "he'll see at once that you're a rale lady, and it's in luck he'll be to get you."

Undoubtedly the position of a governess would be more remunerative, and less laborious, than that of a seamstress, and, under present circumstances, Mrs. Codman felt that she could not afford to throw the chance away. She retired that night a little more cheerful and hopeful than would have been the case had not this door of escape from the evil of want been shown her.