at and tidy like all the rest. It admitted her to the tiniest morsel of a shop--at least there was a long table there which seemed to do duty as a counter; and before, not behind, it sat a spruce little woman sewing. She jumped up as Nettie entered. By the becoming smartness of her calico dress and white collar, the beautiful order of her hair, and a certain peculiarity of feature, you might know before she spoke that the little baker was a Frenchwoman. She spoke English quite well, though not so fast as she spoke her own tongue.
"I want two loaves of bread, Mrs. August; and a pint of milk, if you please."
"How will you carry them, my child? you cannot take them all at the time."
"O yes, I can," said Nettie, cheerfully. "I can manage. They are not heavy."
"No, I hope not," said the Frenchwoman; "it is not heavy, my bread! but two loaves are not one, no more. Is your mother well?"
She then set busily about wrapping the loaves in paper and measuring out the milk. Nettie answer