“That’s right; a bargain.”
“I’ll help you to get away with your gold, and you’ll leave me your business, lock, stock, and barrel.”
“That’s exactly it,” said the goldsmith, taking up an empty “billy” from the ground. “Now we’ll go and get the water for our tea.”
CHAPTER XXV.
Fishing.
A case of bottling-plums, the bloom still on their purple cheeks, stood on the kitchen table. Beside it stood Rose, her arms bare to the elbows, and a snowy apron flowing from breast to ankle. Marshalled in regular array in front of the case, stood a small army of glass jars, which presently were to receive the fruit.
In a huge preserving-pan a thick syrup was simmering on the stove; and Rose had just begun to place the fruit in this saccharine mixture, when a succession of knocks, gentle but persistent, was heard coming from the front door.
“Oh, bother,” said Rose, as she paused with a double handful of plums half way between the fruit-case and the stove. “Who can that be?”
Again the knocking resounded through the house.