The man spoke well—better than many pedlars that Fanny had met with, and his tone was respectful, albeit very pleading. Fanny's heart was growing softer and softer. He looked faint and weary himself, she thought, and oh! so very sad——
"Fanny, Fanny, what are you about? Ain't those carpets finished yet?" The housekeeper's voice sounded sharply at the top of the back staircase.
The pedlar looked scared. Fanny beckoned him with one finger to follow her.
"Coming, aunt," she called back. And, still silently beckoning, she conducted the pedlar into the small breakfast-room.
"Put it down in this corner," she said, "and come for it as soon as you can."
"May I beg that it will remain untouched," said the pedlar humbly. "It contains many valuables—at least to me—for it comprises nearly all that I possess in the world."
"No one will touch it in here, for this room is never used."
"I cannot thank you enough for your compassion——" began the pedlar, when the sharp voice was heard again.
"Fanny, cook's waitin' for you to help her move some things. Are you comin' or not?"
"Coming now," was Fanny's answer, and, shutting the breakfast-room door, she hustled the pedlar out into the flagged yard without ceremony.