I know that I did
not do it with half the air which the little grey-beavered lady had
thrown over the proceeding, but I hardly deserved the scornful tone in
which she addressed no one in particular with the remark, "He has no
business with flat irons. He's only a boy."
She evidently expected no reply, for without a pause she proceeded to
count out five farthings on to the counter, saying as she did so, "A
frying-pan, a gridiron, a dish, and two plates, if you please." On
which, to my astonishment, miniature specimens of these articles, made
of the same material as the flat irons, were produced from the box
whence those had come. I was so bewildered by the severity of the
little lady's remarks, and the wonderful things which she obtained for
her farthings, that I dropped my remaining seven on to the shop floor,
and was still grubbing for them in the dust, when the children having
finished their shopping, came backwards off the seats as usual. They
passed me in the doorway, hand in hand. The little lady with the white
beaver was next to me, and as she passed she gave a shy glance, and
her face dimpled all over into smiles. Unspeakably pleased by her
recognition, I abandoned my farthings to their fate, and jumping up, I
held out my dusty hand to the little damsel, saying hastily but as
civilly as I could, "How do you do? I hope you're pretty well.
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