“Brown pitchers, my mistress? The best have we, be sure. Twopence the dozen, these; but we have cheaper if your honour wish them.”
Another time it was, “What lack you, sweet sir? Chafing-dishes, shaving-basins, bowls, goblets, salts? All good and sound—none of your trumpery rubbish!”
And Roger and Tom both lifted up sonorous voices in the cry of—
“Pots and pans! Pots and pa–ans! Chargers, dishes, plates, cups, bowls, por–ring–ers! Come buy, come buy, come buy!”
The articles were good—Roger had seen to that—and they went off quickly. Ladies, country housewives, farmers, substantial yeomen, with their wives and daughters, came up to buy, until the donkey’s load was considerably diminished. At length a priest appeared as a customer. Pandora’s heart leaped into her mouth; and Mrs Collenwood, as she produced yellow basins for his inspection, was not entirely without her misgivings. But the reverend gentleman’s attention seemed concentrated on the yellow basins, of which he bought half-a-dozen for a penny, and desired them to be delivered at the Vicarage. Roger bowed extra low as he assured the priest that the basins should be there, without fail, in an hour, and having now reduced his goods to a load of much smaller dimensions, he intimated that they “might as well be moving forward.” The goods having been duly delivered, Roger took the road to Lamberhurst, and they arrived without further misadventure at the Nun’s Head, where Mrs Collenwood’s servant, Zachary, was on the look-out for them.
To Mrs Collenwood’s amusement, Zachary did not recognise her until she addressed him by name; a satisfactory proof that her disguise was sufficient for the purpose. They breakfasted at the Nun’s Head, on Canterbury brawn (for which that city was famous) and a chicken pie, and resumed their own attire, but carrying the cloaks of Roger’s providing with them, as a resource if necessity should arise.
“Aunt Frances,” said Pandora, as they sat at breakfast, “I never thought you could have made so good a tradeswoman. Pray you, how knew you what to say to the folks?”
“Why, child!” answered Mrs Collenwood, laughing, “dost reckon I have never bought a brown pitcher nor a yellow basin, that I should not know what price to ask?”
“Oh, I signified not that so much, Aunt; but—all the talk, and the fashion wherein you addressed you to the work.”
“My mother—your grandmother, Dorrie—was used to say to me, ‘Whatever thou hast ado with, Frank, put thine heart and thy wits therein.’ ’Tis a good rule, and will stand a woman in stead for better things than selling pots.”