'Yes, I am indeed, Mr.Henry; now, do serve me next, there's a good creetur.

I wouldn't worry you, only it's all along o' them botherin' children.' 'What have you got here ?' inquires the shopman, unpinning the bundle--'old concern, I suppose--pair o' stays and a petticut.

You must look up somethin' else, old 'ooman; I can't lend you anything more upon them; they're completely worn out by this time, if it's only by putting in, and taking out again, three times a week.' 'Oh! you're a rum un, you are,' replies the old woman, laughing extremely, as in duty bound; 'I wish I'd got the gift of the gab like you; see if I'd be up the spout so often then! No, no; it an't the petticut; it's a child's frock and a beautiful silk ankecher, as belongs to my husband.

He gave four shillin' for it, the werry same blessed day as he broke his arm.'-- 'What do you want upon these ?' inquires Mr.Henry, slightly glancing at the articles, which in all probability are old acquaintances.

'What do you want upon these ?'--'Eighteenpence.'-- 'Lend you ninepence.'-- 'Oh, make it a shillin'; there's a dear--do now ?'--'Not another farden.'-- 'Well, I suppose I must take it.' The duplicate is made out, one ticket pinned on the parcel, the other given to the old woman; the parcel is flung carelessly down into a corner, and some other customer prefers his claim to be served without further delay.
The choice falls on an unshaven, dirty, sottish-looking fellow, whose tarnished paper-cap, stuck negligently over one eye, communicates an additionally repulsive expression to his very uninviting countenance.