“You’ve forgotten young Measter Boucher,” quavered the aged Nat. “I be an old man, but I mind things better nor you do, seemingly. He was a drivin’ home from Bilstoke Fair, and just as he was agoin’ up a bit of a hill, with trees on both sides, he felt heavy on his chest, as if he had a fit comin’ on, only instead of a fit it was a stout rope, which two men held across the road, and tiddled him over out of his gig. And when he was down they was on him in a minnit, and plundered him of his watch and ten yellow sovereigns.” “That’s the story he went home and told his mother,” said Nell, scornfully, “but I can pretty well guess how it was. Some of them flaunting hussies got and colly-fogled him into the booths to dance with ’em, and while he wer a thinkin’ how pretty he wer a doin’ his steps, whip! goes his money and watch out of his pocket into theirs.” This speech was greeted with roars of laughter. “Ah, Nell, thee beest a knowin’ one,” cried several. A portion of the beer the farmer had paid for was now brought in by the little waitress. It was handed round in brown mugs to the company. The farmer’s health was drunk, also that of his son. Peace opened his folio of prints, plain and coloured. Several were spread out upon the table, and regarded with curious and inquiring eyes by the occupants of the parlour. Peace had pictures to please persons of different tastes. Some were bits of rustic scenery, farm-yards, horses ploughing, hay-making; others consisted of highly-coloured sporting subjects, such as hunting, ratting, and deer stalking; but, as it would never do for an itinerant dealer in these commodities to confine himself to one particular class of art, he had specimens of every conceivable variety, suitable to persons of opposite tastes; pictures addressed to persons of a devotional turn of mind formed a large element in his stock in trade. The Holy Family, the head of our Saviour, together with three young gentlemen in surplices, casting up their eyes, were there in abundance; also a young lady clinging to an impossible-looking cross, her garments dripping with wet, was another. This fine specimen was called “The Rock of Ages,” the title of the young gentlemen in surplices being, “We Praise Thee, O Lord.” He had also large photos of the “Light of the World,” together with a variety of others of a similar character. These subjects went down with some of his customers, while others would not honour them with a cursory glance. One print, entitled the “Labourers’ Best Friends,” was greatly admired by the frequenters of the “Old Carved Lion.” The subjects represented were a substantial piece of fat bacon, a quartern loaf, half a cheese, a foaming tankard of ale, and a clay pipe. “Ah, that be summut loike,” exclaimed several, “I call that wonderfully natural, as real as life itself; I should loike to ha’ that. How much be it, measter?” “Cheap enough,” answered Peace, “only half-a-crown.” “Umph, I wish it was in a frame.”