“Well, then, now is your chance; I am open to an offer for this gem o’ creation.” 

 She turned to her husband and murmured, “Michael, you have talked this nonsense in public places before. A joke is a joke, but you may make it once too often, mind!” 

 “I know I’ve said it before; I meant it. All I want is a buyer.” 

 At the moment a swallow, one among the last of the season, which had by chance found its way through an opening into the upper part of the tent, flew to and fro quick curves above their heads, causing all eyes to follow it absently. In watching the bird till it made its escape the assembled company neglected to respond to the workman’s offer, and the subject dropped. 

 But a quarter of an hour later the man, who had gone on lacing his furmity more and more heavily, though he was either so strong-minded or such an intrepid toper that he still appeared fairly sober, recurred to the old strain, as in a musical fantasy the instrument fetches up the original theme. “Here—I am waiting to know about this offer of mine. The woman is no good to me. Who’ll have her?” 

 The company had by this time decidedly degenerated, and the renewed inquiry was received with a laugh of appreciation. The woman whispered; she was imploring and anxious: “Come, come, it is getting dark, and this nonsense won’t do. If you don’t come along, I shall go without you. Come!” 

 She waited and waited; yet he did not move. In ten minutes the man broke in upon the desultory conversation of the furmity drinkers with, “I asked this question, and nobody answered to ’t. Will any Jack Rag or Tom Straw among ye buy my goods?” 

 The woman’s manner changed, and her face assumed the grim shape and colour of which mention has been made. 

 “Mike, Mike,” she said; “this is getting serious. O!—too serious!” 

 “Will anybody buy her?” said the man. 

 “I wish somebody would,” said she firmly. “Her present owner is not at all to her liking!” 

 “Nor you to mine,” said he. “So we are agreed about that. Gentlemen, you hear? It’s an agreement to part. She shall take the girl if she wants to, and go her ways. I’ll take my tools, and go my ways. ’Tis simple as Scripture history. Now then, stand up, Susan, and show yourself.” 

 “Don’t, my chiel,” 

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