NEGOTIATING A SALE.

"Not pretty?" said the little Rhoda Weeks, smoothing the camel's-hair shawl that lay upon the table with both her little hands, as if she had been a dry goods clerk of long practice. "The colors not bright, Miss Hudson? I—yes, I am astonished! Not bright? Why, just look how every thread gives its color to the next, how they sort of go into one another, and grow softer, and—and——Well, if I can't tell just how it is in words, I know that this shawl is something stupendous,—a great deal more stupendous, understand, than them red-and-yellow things that glisten so, and cut such a splash, or them other shawls that have white snakes running over them—trumpery! Don't you see! this shawl is made out of little pieces, worked by ever so many people, and stitched into this wonderful pattern, when it's all put together like patch-work-quilt? That's the way it's done off in the Inders. This was made for a fellow they call a Pacher, and he gave it to the father of a friend of mine, who has kept it in a camphor-wood trunk ever since, only putting it on now and then jest to show off with. It would take away your breath if I was to tell you half of what it is worth in solid gold."

Constance Hudson, who had been regarding Mrs. Holt's shawl with supercilious carelessness, really believing it deficient in that brilliancy which her crude taste demanded in everything, now gave her attention more earnestly to the beautiful fabric, very much impressed by Rhoda's evident reverence for it.

"Yes, yes, I see; on a second look one does see how rich it is, but a little knotty on the wrong side—don't you think so?"

"Knotty!" exclaimed Rhoda, tossing her little head. "Why that is the very thing; that's how we make sure it's the genuine Inder."

"Oh, yes I now I see," answered Constance, quite subdued by the child's superior knowledge. "How much did you say it cost?'

"Guess?"

"Well, a hundred dollars."

But for her shopping experience of the last month Constance would have said fifty; but this had enlightened her a little, and she named the larger sum, expecting to be cut down in her estimate.

"One hundred!" exclaimed Rhoda, with calm scorn. "One hundred! Miss Constance Hudson, this shawl cost three thousand dollars!"

Constance rounded her beautiful lips, and gave a low whistle. Her eyes, expanding with amazement, were turned upon Rhoda, who met her gaze with a conscious smile.

"Three thousand dollars—and left with you to sell? There, there, little Rhoda! It won't do—it won't do."

"That means you don't believe me," said Rhoda, sitting very upright in her chair, and turning her head on one side like a furious little Jenny Wren, ready to peck. "I'm much obliged to you; but this shawl cost three thousand dollars, and I've got it to sell. Shouldn't you like to buy it, now, Miss Hudson?"

"Well, perhaps I could, if I liked!" answered Constance, flushing scarlet with anger.

"Exactly," chimed in the little girl. "Perhaps we could, if we liked; three thousand dollars is nothing to us. Oh, no!"

Constance clenched her hand, and locked her white teeth in sudden rage. At which Rhoda lifted her tiny finger, and said in a grave, reproving manner worthy of her grandmother,

"Oh! now you are getting angry, Miss Constance. For shame!"

"Angry! angry! You provoking little tyke! What is it to you, I want to know, whether I've got three thousand dollars or not?"

"Oh, nothing! nothing in the world! Only I know you haven't."

"And you think I can't buy that shawl?"

"I _know_ you can't. Who better? Now, just to prove it, I don't expect to get anything like the price this beautiful thing is worth."

"You don't?"

"No, I don't. Look at it; feel the knots. See how the colors run into each other like a humming-bird's neck. Now one thousand dollars will buy this shawl. It's got to be sold, and no one can be expected to pay what it's worth. One thousand cash down, and it is yours."

"And you think I can't raise so much?"

"I know you can't."

"We shall see!"

"Yes, we shall see."

I am afraid little Rhoda was rather aggravating with that pert shake of her head, and the knowing look of her eyes. At any rate, the girl's exorbitant vanity was aroused, and she felt herself insulted. The love of spending had grown strong upon her. There is no power more intoxicating than that of squandering money, to a person whose whole life has been one of privation.

"If the money would strangle you, I'd be sure and get it," she said, pushing the shawl in a heap to the floor; and with that Constance flung herself out of the room, muttering wrathfully in her hot anger.

"If she, or any one else could get it, I shouldn't much care if it did choke me a little," muttered Rhoda, lifting the shawl with both arms, thus half burying herself in its loose folds: "but so much money isn't to be found among my customers. What shall I do? What can I do? If I'd said it couldn't be managed, she would have given it right up. The first word I spoke that way made her turn white as a ghost. Poor lady! poor lady! if I only could help her! But nobody will believe it is worth so much money. I wouldn't have thought it myself, only she made it so clear how long it took to make one, and how far it came on camels' backs. I wonder why camels really are long necked and humpy! I take it from what she said—curious how much she knows. Oh, dear! what can I do about this?"

Rhoda dragged the shawl up to the table, and folding her arms upon it, laid her head upon them in utter despondency. How desperate the child must have become may be imagined, when she had appealed to Constance Hudson, asking in her extremity, if she knew of any person rich enough to purchase so precious a garment. The girl had mocked her by hinting at a wish to buy it herself, and this completed Rhoda's discouragement.

While the little creature sat despondent and almost crying, Constance came back to her room, flushed, panting, and with saucy triumph flashing out from her beautiful face.

"Here is the money—give me the shawl; but, remember, if it isn't worth the price, I'll take you up for swindling—I will, or my name isn't Constance Hudson. Get up, I say, and let me look at the article."

The girl held a roll of money in her hands, which she opened and fluttered tauntingly before the astonished eyes of Rhoda. Never before had those eyes been so large, or the honest little face so bewildered.

"Let me—let me look at them; are they real?" she gasped, reaching out her hand.

"No you don't, till I know how real the shawl is. That's the first question. Just get off it with your arms; I want some one who is a judge to tell me how much humbug there is in it."

Constance pulled the shawl from under Rhoda's arms, and was gathering it up in her own.

"Stop, stop!" said Rhoda, breathless with sudden fright. "Is it Mr. Sterling you are going to ask?"

For an instant Constance was taken aback. She partly dropped the shawl upon the table, and the color left her cheeks, but she recovered herself at once with a short laugh, and huddled it together again.

"Nonsense! it isn't him. What does he know of such things; and what is Sterling to me, I'd like you to tell?"

Rhoda was relieved, and loosened her grasp on the shawl. She knew well that Mrs. Holt would be terribly wounded if her son was made acquainted with the sacrifice she was making, and still hesitated.

"More than that," said Constance, exhibiting a degree of anxiety that satisfied Rhoda of her earnestness, "I don't want him, or anybody else, to know that I've bought the shawl, not my own father. If I take it, the whole thing is a secret between you and me."

Rhoda made no answer; but after Constance had left the room fell into thought, and sat for a long time with her elbows on the table, and her shrewd little face supported by a hand pressed against either cheek.

"Where did she get the money! Old Hudson hasn't got so much. Can she earn it cutting those pictures on stone and on steel? Maybe she does, I don't know; and, anyway, it's none of my business, so long as the money is good but it's awful strange."