“Oh, I cannot think of having it without paying for it.”
“But I desire you to do so—nay, I insist,” cried Peace, rolling up the print in a sheet of paper, and handing it to the young woman.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to beg it of you,” said she.
“I know that—I give it to you of my own free will; so say no more about it.”
This act of generosity produced a favourable impression on all present, and Peace became very popular. Several present bespoke prints, and after the whole of them had been inspected they were packed up and put aside for the rest of the evening.
The whole of the company then sat down to enjoy themselves, and, to say the truth, in their homely way they did so, very much more so than many of their betters.
“Ah, I yoosed to be mighty fond of picturs,” said old Nat, “but, lord, I don’t seem to ha’ the taste for anything loike I had formerly. When a man gets old and well nigh worn out he’s not so easily pleased as the young uns—be he, measter?”
“Well, I suppose not, friend,” returned Peace, “but we shall all get old and worn out if we live long enough—we ought not to forget that.”
“Now none of your croaking Nat,” said a lusty young fellow. “You’re good for many years yet. Come, jest give us a song, old man. Nat’s been a foine singer in his time,” observed the speaker in a whisper to Peace.
“Oh, I dare say.”