Nor was the pleasure of going over “her things” confined to Mrs. Sandboys alone, for even the maid and Mrs. Fokesell, though in no way concerned, seemed to experience a similar delight in the operation; for there they stood by her side, watching and admiring every article as she took it from the box.
At length, having looked out the much-wished-for, or rather, according to the lady, the much-wanted “change,” for the whole family, she gave them each their bundle of clean clothes, and having arranged with Mrs. Fokesell that they might be allowed the use of the back attic, as a temporary dressing-room, during the absence of the German Baron and his lady, Cursty was started up stairs and told by his wife to make as much haste as possible, for really she was getting alarmed about Postlethwaite, and she wanted Mr. Sandboys immediately that he had “tidied” himself to step round to the printer’s and try and learn whatever had become of the poor man.
In a few minutes Mr. Sandboys returned to the kitchen, clad in his best suit, to receive the opinion of his wife as to the improved character of his appearance. Mrs. Sandboys twisted her “guidman” round and round, tried to pull the wrinkles out of his coat behind, pinched up the frill of his shirt, and ultimately pronounced that she thought he would do—at least, thank guidness, she said he was clean and sweet once more. Then, having kissed him, she despatched him on his errand after the deaf Postlethwaite.
Mrs. Sandboys was still engaged in the interesting process of unpacking her trunks in the kitchen, when a hawker of flowers, with a basket of all colours on his head, stopped before the railings, and observing the lady down stairs, immediately commenced crying—“Fine flowers! sweet-scented flowers! handsome flowers!—all a-blowing—all a-growing!”
Elcy, observing the bright scarlet blossoms of the geraniums, and the long crimson drops of the fuchsias swinging backwards and forwards in the wind, and the pink balls of roses, nodding at every motion of the huckster’s head, called out to her mother to come and see what beautiful plants the man had got.
The street-seller no sooner caught sight of Mrs. Sandboys, than he shouted again—“Fine flowers! sweet-scented flowers. Take any old clothes for ’em, ma’am. You may have the pick of the basket for an old coat.”
Mrs. Sandboys shook her head, but the street-seller seeing her still look up, put his basket down on the pavement, and began trying to have a deal with her down the area railings.
“Now’s your time, ladies,” he cried, “you can have this here moss-rose for an old weskit, or a pair of satin shoes. Now’s your time, ladies; all a-blowing! all a-growing!”
Elcy, at her mother’s request, stepped out into the area to tell the man that they didn’t want any.
But the cunning dealer having once got the girl into conversation, handed her down a pot of mignionette, and begged her just to put her nose to that there. As she sniffed at the fragrant flowers, the man said he’d accept of anything, he didn’t mind what it was, how old or how dirty, for he had not taken a penny all that day. “Any old trowsers, Miss, if you’ll tell your ma, or an old hat, or a pair of boots—it’s all the same, Miss; though they a’n’t no use to you, they’re as good as money to us. Take that there pot in to your ma, Miss, and ax her just to put her nose to it, and then say whether she doesn’t think such a nosegay as that there a’n’t worth an old straw bonnet, or some white linen rags.”