'Indeed it was. I was very happy in it—specially when we had piled up the profits.'
'You made a pile when you sold my father a flail for a guinea.'
'We did; but if it is any satisfaction to you to know it, it was the thoughts of that made him pass away so happy.'
'A guinea was nought to my father; he was rich. Now I am rich.' Then, with a trip of his foot on the bank as though he were dancing, 'Zita, what a joke it would be for us to go round in the summer with the old van and the stock-in-trade. What have you done with the goods?'
'They are safe.'
'And we will visit Swaffham, and Littleport, and Ely together, and sell away like blazes. I'll attend to the horse, and you shall do all the talking the folk want. What fun it will be!'
'No,' said Zita, colouring; 'that will not be right.'
'Why not?'
'No. It was all very well with my father. But I will not go again.'
'You must—you shall—with me!'