She looked at him for a moment, and exclaimed:
"Bless my soul! It's the gentleman that took our Bessie out of the water. How do you do, sir?" she continued, with mingled pleasure and respect, as she advanced from behind the counter, and curtsied to Thomas.
"None the worse for my ducking, thank you," said Thomas, holding out his hand in the delight a word of real friendship always gives.
She shook it warmly, and would hardly let it go.
"Oh! isn't he, then?" muttered Jim, mysteriously, but loud enough for Potts to hear.
"Won't you come in, sir?" said the woman, turning to lead the way.
"Thank you," answered Thomas. "I have been walking about all day, and am very tired. If you would let me sit down awhile—and—perhaps it wouldn't be giving you too much trouble to ask for a cup of tea, for my head aches rather."
"Come in, sir," she said, in a tone of truest hospitality. "That I will, with pleasure, I'm sure."
Thomas followed her into a dingy back room, where she made him lie down on a sofa from which he would have recoiled three days ago, but for which he was very grateful now. She then bustled about to get him some tea, and various little delicacies besides, in the shape of ham, and shrimps, etc., etc. It was pretty clear from her look, and the way she pressed her offerings of gratitude, that she had a true regard for inward comforts, if not for those outward luxuries of neatness and cleanliness.
The moment Thomas was out of the shop, Jim Salter began to be more communicative with Mr. Potts.