Good Luck

rday night was the real night for business; then work went on until far into the small hours of the morning, and Louisa was obliged to turn to and hel

man wot came here to-

" asked Louisa,

y he's right well off. Don

re. I thought he was just a friend of Jim Hardy's. I thought it wa

as 'andsome does. Now, that young man Sampson, as you call him, will make his fortin' some fine day. He's in the private detective line,

r; a puzzled expression, an almost f

aid slowly; "a detective, and he is a fri

any young men come 'ere? Oh, we needn't say wh

mother," said

ld see her handsome, striking-looking figure in the looking-glass. There was a long glass in the door of her wardrobe, and there she could see her reflection from head to foot. The red dress

for anythink. But what do it matter! Good Lor', what do anythink matter when you can't get what y

k so that she could no longer see her image in the glass, placed her two elb

t it all. He is half broken-hearted, and he thinks less of me than ever. Oh, Jim, Jim! and I do love you so terrible bad. Why don't you love me even a little bit back again? I'd be good ef you loved me; I know I'd be good. What is there in Alison Reed for you nearly to die for her? She aint got my looks, she aint got my eyes, she aint got my bit of money. I'm handsome, and I know it, and I'll have a tidy lot

ng eyes; tears rose and smarted her

I saw the note, not in the till, but lying on the floor, and no one saw me, and it flashed on me that perhaps Alison would be accused, and anyhow that the money would come in handy. Shaw thought he put the note into the till, but he never did. It fell on the floor, and 'twas open, and I picked it up. I have it now; no one saw me, fo

in her wardrobe, and extracted from an old-fashioned purse a crumpled five-pound

on't love, as I love Jim, for nothink. Yes; I'll win him yet-I have made up my mind. I think I know a way of blinding that detective's eyes. I'll jest let him think that I like him-that I'm losing my heart to him. That 'll fetch him! He aint married; I know he aint, from the way he spoke. I can soon turn a feller like that round my little finger. Trust me to blind his eyes. As to Jim! oh, Jim, you can't guess wot I done; it aint in you to think meanly of a gel. Why, Jim, I could even be good for a man like you; but there! now that I have done this thing I

Jim and his despair stood for some time between her and sleep. She was tired out, for the day had been fu

f lean-to than a room; the roof sloped so much that by the window, and where the little dressing-table stood, only a very small person could keep upright. Grannie belonged to the very small order of women. She always held herself upright as a dart, and though it was late now, she did not show any signs of fatigu

be married and-dear, dear, I wish my hand didn't ache so bad. Well, there's one good thing about it anyway-I needn't waste time in bed, for sleep one wink with this sort of burning pain I couldn't, so I may jest as well set up and put that fea

bright, and set it on the center-table in the kitchen. The night was bitterly cold; the fog had been followed by a heavy frost. Grannie could hear the sharp ringing sound of some horses' feet as they passed b

r coals are hard to get. Ef that doctor were right, and it were really writers' cramp, I mightn't be able to earn any more money to buy coals; but of course he aint right; how silly of me to be afraid of what's impossible! Yes, I'll put on the coals. Than

rom the cupboard in the wall, sat down with needle and thread just where the full light of the lamp could best fall on her work. Her r

ll now, what a silly I am! Why don't I try the linim

lm of her left hand. The liniment was hot and comforting; it smarted a little, and relieved the dul

of it, though; why, I'm a sight better already. Now then, first to wash my 'ands, and then to unpick the feather-

tle kitchen to unpick Alison's work. The liniment had really eased the pain. She was able to grasp without any discomfort the very finely pointed scissors she was obliged to use, and after an

s. Let's see, I'm sixty-eight. In one sense sixty-eight is old, in another sense it's young. You slack down at sixty-eight; you don't have such a draw on your system, the fire inside you don't seem to require such poking up and feeding. When you get real old, seventy-eight or eighty, then you want a deal of cosseting; but sixty-eight is young in one sense of the word. This is the slack time-this is the time when you live real cheap. What a deal of mercies I have, to be sure; and them beautiful grandchildren, so fat and hearty, and Aliso

hing. For the first quarter of an hour or twenty minutes the work went well-the mysterious twists, and turns, and darts, and loops were all made with fi

re at it, she'd make a sight more than she do in the shop. I declare I'll g

umb were drawn apart, as though they had not the power to get to

all the power goin' sudden-like-of course it's rheumatis-there, I've no cause to be frightened; it's pas

tea, drank it off scalding hot, and then rubbed some more liniment on the hand. It was not quite so comfortin

hread. "Think of all the children, Lord, and the little ones so fat and well fe

and hand which were necessary to produce the feather-stitching. In ten minutes the pain returned, the power

g writing is, when a letter once in six months knocks you over in this way. Dear, dear, I'm a-shaking, but I 'a' done a nice little bit, and it's past three o'clock. I'll g

side of the kitchen, the opposite room to Alison's. The well-fed children in Grannie's bed breathed softly in their happy slumbers; the little old woman got in between them and lay down icy cold, and tremb