His talk was a queer kind of half-foreign jargon, and he addressed himself principally to Aunt Molly.
But Jessie and Marguerite were so dazzled by the glory of his wares that he turned his attention to them as more likely purchasers.
“Ach, mees, ver’ fine, ver’ fine,” he would say, clasping his not overclean hands and rolling his eyes.
Then, catching up a white-and-gold scarf, he deftly twisted it into a turban, which he placed on Marguerite’s curly head and then struck an attitude of mute adoration.
“Ver’ fine, ver’ fine,” he repeated, which phrase seemed to be his entire stock of English.
Then, seeing Millicent’s eyes wander toward the grotesque images, he picked up a snake, which uncoiled itself in such a realistic way that the girls squealed. This seemed to amuse him very much, and he began to tell a horrible snake story. Only a few words were intelligible, but his gestures were so dramatic that he was easily understood, and the girls were thrilled at the pantomimic relation of his fearful encounter with a rattlesnake in the wilds of his own country.
The prices of his goods were exorbitant, but Aunt Molly had dealt with his kind before, and by reason of her sagacious hints of the girls’ limited means he was induced to accept about half of what he at first asked, and the bargains were finally concluded to the satisfaction of all concerned.
Then the picturesque peddler departed with gestures of respectful admiration and regretful leave-taking.
Jessie had bought a scarf of exquisite embroidery on pale-blue gauze, which was very becoming to her pretty girlishness.
Hester and Betty bought baskets of bright-colored sweet-grass, and Hester put hers at once to use by dropping her crochet work into it.