He had made known his errand, and had received a denial. Most pedlers would have retired. _He_ took a seat. There was a seeming rudeness in so doing, especially as the woman had given no such invitation; but the manner of his doing it divested it of all impropriety. It was taken hesitatingly and with an appearance of weariness; and still more in his favor, he did that which is not always done by pedlers, he civilly removed his hat. Minutes passed—or they seemed minutes to the pedler—during which he sat in silence pondering upon the course most likely to ensure success—the woman, meanwhile, employing herself in brushing the hearth, adjusting the chairs, with other operations indicated by that very expressive household term—“putting things to rights.” At length Jasper C—— ventured to say, “Madam, with your leave, I’ll show you one of my clocks.” “You may show as many as you please,” said the woman, “but we want none—havn’t I already told you?” She had, indeed, so told him; but, nevertheless, the pedler had done better than he feared. He had gained one point, and what his experience had taught him was an important point—he had permission to show his clocks. In a short time, therefore, he was again entering the door, bearing in his hands a handsome-looking clock—brass wheels, mahogany case, gilded at various points, and withal a pretty landscape, painted on a glass in front, below the face. In short, it was a fair specimen of Jerome’s best Bristol made. Fortunately—so the pedler thought—the mantle happened to be unoccupied, and there, in the centre, the clock was duly installed. It was wound up, and soon began its duty—click, click, click. The pedler resumed his seat.