"Ahem! sir! I say, young man!" the customer exclaimed.

"Ton d'apameibomenos prosephe," read on the student, his voice choked
with emotion. "What language!" he said; "how rich, how noble, how
sonorous! prosephe podas--"

The customer burst out into a fit of laughter so shrill and cheery, that
the young Student could not but turn round, and blushing, for the first
time remarked her. "A pretty grocer's boy you are," she cried, "with
your applepiebomenos and your French and lingo. Am I to be kept waiting
for hever?"

"Pardon, fair Maiden," said he, with high-bred courtesy: "'twas not
French I read, 'twas the Godlike language of the blind old bard. In
what can I be serviceable to ye, lady?" and to spring from his desk, to
smooth his apron, to stand before her the obedient Shop Boy, the Poet no
more, was the work of a moment.

"I might have prigged this box of figs," the damsel said good-naturedly,
"and you'd never have turned round."

"They came from the country of Hector," the boy said. "Would you have
currants, lady? These once bloomed in the island gardens of the blue
Aegean. They are uncommon fine ones, and the figure is low; they're
fourpence-halfpenny a pound. Would ye mayhap make trial of our teas? We
do not advertise, as some folks do: but sell as low as any other house."

"You're precious young to have all these good things," the girl
exclaimed, not unwilling, seemingly, to prolong the conversation. "If I