“No, I doan’t, sir,” replied the man civilly. “It was here long afor I war born, or any on us.”
Mr. Pickwick glanced triumphantly at his companion.
“You—you are not particularly attached to it, I dare say,” said Mr. Pickwick, trembling with anxiety. “You wouldn’t mind selling it, now?”
“There is an inscription here,” said Mr. Pickwick
“Ah! but who’d buy it?” inquired the man, with an expression of face which he probably meant to be very cunning.
“I’ll give you ten shillings for it at once,” said Mr. Pickwick, “if you would take it up for me.”
The astonishment of the village may be easily imagined, when (the little stone having been raised with one wrench of a spade) Mr. Pickwick, by dint of great personal exertion, bore it with his own hands to the inn, and after having carefully washed it, deposited it on the table.