The lady thought a moment. "Very good," said she, "you may have that ragged boy yonder for ten dollars, and I'll take the value of him in tin."
The bargain was struck.
The lady selected the tin ware, and it was carried into the house. The peddler mounted his seat, with the ragged urchin by his side, and threatened to drive off. "Of course," he thought, "she will not let me go away with the boy. She will pay me the money, when she sees that I am raly going." He was mistaken, though. He had reckoned without his host, this time.
Crack went the whip. "I'm going now," said he. "I'm off in less than no time."
"Very well," said the good woman; "so I supposed."
He actually started, and went a few rods, slowly, when he stopped, turned around, and said, "There, now I'm off for sartain."
"So I heard you say some time ago," said the lady.
"But are you willing I should take off this 'ere boy?"
"Certainly," said the lady. "We keep the town's poor here, and this is the worst fellow in the lot."
The story is that the peddler, when he found how completely he was outwitted, gave, in money, about as much as the tin he had parted with was worth, to get out of the scrape, or in other words, to get clear of his young pauper.