It was a longer cry than might have been expected. Howbeit, it wore itself out in a shadowy corner, and then the dressmaker came forth, and washed her face, and made the tea. “You wouldn’t mind my cutting out something while we are at tea, would you?” she asked her Jewish friend, with a coaxing air.

“Cinderella, dear child,” the old man expostulated, “will you never rest?”

“Oh! It’s not work, cutting out a pattern isn’t,” said Miss Jenny, with her busy little scissors already snipping at some paper. “The truth is, godmother, I want to fix it while I have it correct in my mind.”

“Have you seen it today then?” asked Riah.

“Yes, godmother. Saw it just now. It’s a surplice, that’s what it is. Thing our clergymen wear, you know,” explained Miss Jenny, in consideration of his professing another faith.

“And what have you to do with that, Jenny?”