Fay meanwhile had quickly stepped into the cobbler’s half-opened door.
“Good-morning,” she said, very hurriedly, “you have a caged thrush, have you not?”
“Well, who said I hadn’t,” said Jonas, not looking up from his work.
“Oh, nobody,” said Faith, very politely, “but we saw it by your door, and we want to know if you would sell it to us.”
Jonas Tubbs looked up from his boot-mending. There was an expression of exceeding surliness on his face, but there was likewise a malicious twinkle in his eye which would probably not have escaped the notice of an older person. To Fay, however, he only appeared an abominably cross-looking old man.
“How much would you take for the thrush?” she asked.
“All depends how much you’d like to give,” snarled Jonas.
“We’d give you—” began Faith, but the others cut her short.
“Don’t be so green as to make an offer,” whispered Di, at her elbow, whilst the boys, who were dying to put in their tongues, repeated Faith’s first enquiry in deafening tones. “Come, out with it, how much will you take for that thrush that we saw in the cage?”
“Aaron,” called Jonas, by way of answer—Biblical names were evidently in favour in the house of Tubbs—“Aaron, just come here.”