“I’ll undertake to frame any of my prints at cost price.” “Do un, now?” “Yes, you can have a frame from a shilling to a sovereign-according to the quality.” “I’ll come and sit by you,” said Nell to Peace, “because you are a clever man, I’m thinking.” “I am very much flattered, I am sure,” he answered with a smirk. “So un ought to be,” said another of the company, “it aint many as Nell condescends to flatter.” A young peasant and peasantess as Mark Twain would say, making eyes at one another after the approved fashion, attracted the young woman’s attention. “Now I call that a wonderfully well done picture,” said she. “Do you like it?” asked Peace. “Yes, very much.” “Well then I shall beg of you to accept it.” The girl coloured up, not rightly understanding his meaning. “What be hesitating about, Nell?” said old Nat, “Don’t ye understand it’s given to you as a present?” “Oh, I cannot think of having it without paying for it.” “But I desire you to do so――nay, I insist,” cried Peace, rolling up the print in a sheet of paper, and handing it to the young woman. “Oh, I didn’t mean to beg it of you,” said she. “I know that――I give it to you of my own free will; so say no more about it.” This act of generosity produced a favourable impression on all present, and Peace became very popular. Several present bespoke prints, and after the whole of them had been inspected they were packed up and put aside for the rest of the evening. The whole of the company then sat down to enjoy themselves, and, to say the truth, in their homely way they did so, very much more so than many of their betters. “Ah, I yoosed to be mighty fond of picturs,” said old Nat, “but, lord, I don’t seem to ha’ the taste for anything loike I had formerly. When a man gets old and well nigh worn out he’s not so easily pleased as the young uns――be he, measter?” “Well, I suppose not, friend,” returned Peace, “but we shall all get old and worn out if we live long enough――we ought not to forget that.” “Now none of your croaking Nat,” said a lusty young fellow. “You’re good for many years yet. Come, jest give us a song, old man. Nat’s been a foine singer in his time,” observed the speaker in a whisper to Peace. “Oh, I dare say.” “Fond of music, sir?” enquired another. “Yes, I’m a bit of a musician myself. If our friend will oblige I’ll give you a tune or two upon the fiddle.” This seemed to have a magic effect upon the villagers, who thumped the tables till the pots and glasses danced on the board. “Will ’ee, though? Oh, that be grand!” exclaimed several. “Now, Nat, just mek a beginning.” “You must excuse me, sir, if I break down,” said the old man, apologetically; “I aint what I yoosed to be.” “He’s never satisfied unless he’s telling us that,” cried a voice. “Come, old man, fire away.”