When her talk began to be repetitive instead of informative the freckled man stood up and said, "Well, miss, I ain't had such a tea not in years, and I'm real grateful to you.
"You're welcome," she said. "If you take my advice, you'll give up the writing-pad business. There's nothing in it nowadays. It's old-fashioned. Try stuff like him there — novelty stuff like they sell in the shops at Christmastime."
The freckled man's glance fell sardonically on the dagger among the "Christmas goods."
"You going up the road or down?" he said to the pedlar.
"Up," said the pedlar.
"Well, cheerio, I'll be going. Many thanks again for the tea, miss." And the door closed behind him. Five minutes later the pedlar took his leave.
"If I was you, miss, I wouldn't be so free with my teas," he said. "There's lots of decent chaps on the road, but there's lots of the other kind, too. You can't be too careful when you're alone in the house."
"Are you jealous of the freckly man?" she asked coquettishly and quite unimpressed. "You needn't be. I didn't buy a pad, you know."
"Well, well," said the pedlar, frustrated in his good intentions, and went laggingly down the path to the gate.
By sheer chance he found the freckled man occupying the front outside seat of the bus he boarded.