IT was raining drearily, and but few people were abroad—that is, few comparatively speaking, though the streets seemed full of hurrying, dripping mortals. In the large dry-goods store business was by no means so brisk as on sunny days, and one of the younger clerks, whose station was near a window looking out upon the thoroughfare, had time to stand gazing at the passers-by. They did not seem to interest him particularly, or else they puzzled him. His young, handsome face wore a thoughtful look, almost a troubled expression about the eyes, which seemed to be gazing beyond the passers-by.
Just across the aisle from him, a lady, seated in one of the easy-chairs set for the accommodation of shoppers, waited and watched him; a young and pretty woman, tastefully, even elegantly-dressed, yet her costume was quite in keeping with the stormy day. The young man's face seemed to have special interest for her, though he was apparently unaware of her existence. A close observer would have discovered that she was watching him with deeply interested eyes.
Whatever served to hold the thoughts of the young man apparently grew in perplexity, for the troubled look continually deepened. At last, forgetting the possible listener, he addressed the dripping clouds perhaps—at least, he was looking at them:—
"I don't know how to do it, but something ought to be done. It is worse than folly to expect good from the way that things are now managed. Esther would have known just what, and how; and how interested she would have been! I try to do her work, and to 'redeem the time;' but the simple truth is, I don't know how, and nobody else seems to."
