'Wall, I don't--not ef I kin help it. Anyhow, ef I get 'em I contrive to lose 'em agin. But what was you wantin'?' 'I came to see if you could let us have our winter's onions? White onions, you know. It's all the sort we can do with, up at the house.' 'Onions!' said Mrs. Blumenfeld. 'Why hain't you riz your own onions, I want to know? You've got a garden.' 'That is true, mum,' said Christopher; 'but all the onions as was in it is gone.' 'Then you didn't plant enough.' 'And that's true too,' said Christopher; 'but I can't say as I takes any blame to myself for it.' 'Sakes alive, man! ain't you the gardener?' 'At your service, mum.' 'Wall, then, why, when you were about it, why didn't you sow your seeds accordin' to your needs?' 'I sowed all the seed I had.' 'All you had!' cried the little woman. 'That sounds kind o' shiftless; and I don't take you for that sort of a man neither, Mr. Bounder.' 'Much obleeged for your good opinion, mum.' 'Then why didn't you git more onion seed, du tell, when you knowed you hadn't enough?' 'As I said, mum, I am much obleeged for your good opinion, which I hope I deserve. There is reasons which must determine a man, upon occasion, to do what you would not approve--unless you also knowed the reasons.' This sounded oracular. The two stood and looked at one another. Christopher explained himself no further; however, Mrs. Blumenfeld's understanding appeared to improve. She looked first inquisitive, and then intelligent. 'That comes kind o' hard upon me, at the end,' she said with a somewhat humorous expression. 'You see, I've made a vow-- You believe in vows, Mr. Bounder?' 'I do, mum,--of the right sort.' 'I don't make no other. Wall, I've made a vow to myself, you see. Look here; what do you call that saint o' your'n? up to your house.' 'I don't follow you, mum,' said Christopher, a good deal mystified. 'You know you've got a saint there, I s'pose. What's her name? that's what I want to know.' 'Do you mean Miss Esther?' 'Ah! that's it. I never heerd of a Saint Esther. There was an Esther in the Bible--I'll tell you! she was a Queen Esther; and that fits. Ain't she a kind o' a queen! But she's t'other thing too. Look here, Mr. Bounder; be you all saints up to your house?' 'Well, no, mum, not exactly; that's not altogether the description I'd give of some of us, if I was stating my opinion.' 'Don't you think you had ought to be that?' 'Perhaps we ought,' said Christopher, with wondering slow admission. 'I kin tell you. There ain't no question about it. Folks had ought to live up to their privileges; an' you've got a pattern there right afore your eyes. I hev no opinion of you, ef you ain't all better'n common folks. I'd be, I know, ef I lived a bit where she was.' 'It's different with a young lady,' Christopher began.