asked this question, and nobody answered to 't. Will any Jack Rag or Tom
Straw among ye buy my goods?"

The woman's manner changed, and her face assumed the grim shape and
colour of which mention has been made.

"Mike, Mike," she said; "this is getting serious. O!--too serious!"

"Will anybody buy her?" said the man.

"I wish somebody would," said she firmly. "Her present owner is not at
all to her liking!"

"Nor you to mine," said he. "So we are agreed about that. Gentlemen, you
hear? It's an agreement to part. She shall take the girl if she wants
to, and go her ways. I'll take my tools, and go my ways. 'Tis simple as
Scripture history. Now then, stand up, Susan, and show yourself."

"Don't, my chiel," whispered a buxom staylace dealer in voluminous
petticoats, who sat near the woman; "yer good man don't know what he's
saying."

The woman, however, did stand up. "Now, who's auctioneer?" cried the
hay-trusser.

"I be," promptly answered a short man, with a nose resembling a copper
knob, a damp voice, and eyes like button-holes. "Who'll make an offer
for this lady?"

The woman looked on the ground, as if she maintained her position by a