Gratia's Trials — page 160: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GRATIA’S TRIALS. — 151 life some twenty odd years before, and always spoke in a sub- dued voice, as if thoroughly ground down by the cares and troubles of life. Day after day Gratia sallied forth, eager to solve the riddle of her subsistence ; night after night she returned home weary and sick at heart, with every limb aching from the unwonted- exertion. Jenny Jackson, a cheerful little sewing-machine girl, who occupied the room next to Gratia’s, heard that there was a vacancy in the establishment of Madame Sainter, the fashion- able Broadway milliner, and she went with Gratia as far as the side door. Madame Sainter herself sat at a tall desk studying the pages of her ledger and day-book, as Gratia was shown in by a frowsy-headed servant-maid. ‘Eh ?” said madame, sticking the pen-handle in among her curl-papers. ‘‘ The situation, eh? Exactly. Could you come “straight off? We are driven to death.” ‘¢At once, madame.” ‘¢ And what can you do?” she asked. ‘* Almost anything, madame. Iam quick with my needle.” ‘‘T give a dollar and seventy-five cents a week,” said — madame, belligerently, as if she expected a battle on the ques- tion of wages; ‘‘and my girls are provided with a lunch in the middle of the day—lI can’t have ‘em galloping home at the busiest time of day, and coming back all grease and tea- leaves.” ; ‘<T shall be contented with that, madame, until I have con- vinced you that I can earn more,” said Gratia, quietly. ‘‘Take off your things,” said madame, brusquely; ‘‘go into the other room, and Mademoiselle Theresine will set you at work at once. Stop, though—you haven't told me your name.” | And Madame Sainter dipped her pen in the ink, and looked at Gratia expectantly, ready to enter it in her books. “My name is Gratia Kempfield,” Eomicbooks.¢co mM.