The three young women, who appeared to be very industrious and comfortable, raised their heads to look at me, and then went on with their work. Stitch, stitch, stitch. At the same time there came from a workshop across a little yard outside the window, a regular sound of hammering that kept a kind of tune: Rat ⁠—tat-tat, Rat ⁠—tat-tat, Rat ⁠—tat-tat, without any variation.

“Well,” said my conductor to one of the three young women. “How do you get on, Minnie?”

“We shall be ready by the trying-on time,” she replied gaily, without looking up. “Don’t you be afraid, father.”

Mr. Omer took off his broad-brimmed hat, and sat down and panted. He was so fat that he was obliged to pant some time before he could say: