The pedlar frowned. It was against her principles to leave any house where she knew there was money, without selling at least a box of salve; but this seemed a hard case.
"A dollar and a half a week!" she muttered scornfully. "The old caraway seed! he'd better go and live in Rome, and be done with it. He'll find plenty of company there."
Narcissa looked up with wide-open eyes.
"Why do you say that?" she asked.
"Because Rome is the skinniest place on this round earth," was the reply; "and I think 'twould suit your uncle down to the ground."
Still the girl gazed. "I guess you're mistaken," she said quietly. "I guess you never was there, was you?"
"Never till yesterday," replied the woman, "and never want to be there again. You see, this isn't my own country at all, as you may say. I belong in another part of the State, and most generally keep to my own beat, havin' my regular customers, understand? and goin' round amongst 'em. But oncet in a while the fancy takes me to roam a little, and see other parts; and so I come round through Damascus and Solon, and passed through Rome yesterday."
"Oh!" cried Narcissa, breathlessly. "You did? do tell me! and wasn't it elegant? I don't see how you could come away. Did you walk about, and see all them handsome buildings? and did you see the folks?"
The pedlar gazed at her in wonder. The girl's eyes were like stars, her whole face alight with enthusiasm. What did it mean?
"Handsome buildin's?" she repeated. "In Rome? I'll tell you what I saw, child, and then you'll know. I saw the forlornest place on this earth, I don't care where the next may be. I saw rocks and turkeys, and turkeys and rocks. The street (if you can call it a street; 'twould be called a hog-wallow, down where I come from) is solid rock where it ain't mud, and solid mud where it ain't rock. There's a house here and a house there, and they all look as if they was tryin' to get away from each other, but didn't darse to move for fear of fallin' down.