"If you please, I don't want you to buy, Mr. Wesden—" said she, "but will you be good enough to send that up to Master Hinchford?"
Mr. Wesden looked at the small, dirty piece of paper in which something was wrapped, and then at Mattie.
"It's honestly come by, sir," said Mattie.
"I never said it wasn't," he responded.
Mattie retired into the street—it was a Saturday night, and there were many customers abroad—she was doing a flourishing trade, when a tall youth caught her by the arm, and dragged her round the corner of the first street.
"Oh! don't pinch my arm so, Master Hinchford."
"What's the twelve and sixpence for, Mattie—not for the—not for the——"
"Yes, the broach! I've been a-saving up, and keeping myself down for it, and now it's easy on my mind."
"I won't have it. I've been thinking about it, and I won't have it, Mattie."
"Please do. I've been trying so hard to wipe that off. I'm quite well now. I've got the c'nexion all right, and shall save it all up agin, and the winter's arf over, and when Miss Wesden comes back, you can buy her another brooch with it, and nobody disapinted."