The postillion made no reply, but looked vexed, and went towards the house, desiring the children would wait in the passage till his return. In the passage there was standing a decent, clean, good natured looking woman, with two huge straw baskets on each side of her. One of the baskets stood a little in the way of the entrance. A man who was pushing his way in, and carried in his hand a string of dead larks hung to a pole, impatient at being stopped, kicked down the straw basket, and all its contents were thrown out. Bright straw hats, and boxes, and slippers, were all thrown in disorder upon the dirty ground.
“Oh, they will be trampled upon! They will be all spoiled!” exclaimed the woman to whom they belonged.
“We’ll help you to pick them up if you will let us,” cried Paul and Anne; and they immediately ran to her assistance.
When the things were all safe in the basket again, the children expressed a desire to know how such beautiful things could be made of straw; but the woman had not time to answer before the postillion came out of the parlour, and with him a gentleman’s servant, who came to Paul, and clapping him upon the back, said, “So, my little chap, I gave you a guinea for a halfpenny, I hear; and I understand you’ve brought it back again; that’s right, give me hold of it.”
“No, brother,” said Anne, “this is not the gentleman that was reading.”
“Pooh, child, I came in Mr. Nelson’s green chaise. Here’s the postillion can tell you so. I and my master came in that chaise. I and my master that was reading, as you say, and it was he that threw the money out to you. He is going to bed; he is tired and can’t see you himself. He desires that you’ll give me the guinea.”
He pushed them towards the door; but the basket-woman whispered to them as they went out, “Wait in the street till I come to you.”
“Pray, Mrs. Landlady,” cried this gentleman’s servant, addressing himself to the landlady, who just then came out of a room where some company were at supper, “Pray, Mrs. Landlady, please to let me have roasted larks for my supper. You are famous for larks at Dunstable; and I make it a rule to taste the best of everything wherever I go; and, waiter, let me have a bottle of claret. Do you hear?”
“Larks and claret for his supper,” said the basket-woman to herself, as she looked at him from head to foot. The postillion was still waiting, as if to speak to him; and she observed them afterwards whispering and laughing together. “No bad hit,” was a sentence which the servant pronounced several times.
Now it occurred to the basket-woman that this man had cheated the children out of the guinea to pay for the larks and claret; and she thought that perhaps she could discover the truth. She waited quietly in the passage.