"Half a guinea they asked, but I beat 'em down. They _do_ try to take you in, the shopkeepers; but I get up a little too early for them. When they try their games on me, they try 'em on the wrong party. Don't you think so?" He made a motion with his elbow, with the intention of digging it playfully into her side; but she shrank back, and frustrated his amiable design. "I went to Covent Garden myself to pick it out." He paused again, and as she did not speak, he thought, "Hang it! why doesn't she say something?" comforting himself, however, with the reflection that his resplendent appearance had "regularly knocked her over," as he would have openly expressed it in his choice vernacular. Feeling that he was not getting along as well as he wished, he wound up with, "For you, miss; wishing you many happy returns of the day." "You are very kind," said Phoebe, having no option but to accept the bouquet, "to spend so much money upon me." "Oh," said Jeremiah, boastfully, "I can do a thing swell when I've a mind to. I never laid out so much on flowers before, but I wouldn't mind doing it again--for you, miss." "Pray don't think of it," said Phoebe, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry. "Well, I won't say whether I will or not. It all depends." He spread himself out airily in order that she might have a good view of him. He took off his hat, touched his curled hair gingerly, put his left arm akimbo, and stood at ease, with his right leg out-stretched. He was rather proud of his manners, and thought he was making an impression. The question whether Phoebe should laugh or cry was determined by his attitude, and Jeremiah was somewhat confounded as a light hysterical laugh escaped her. "What at, miss?" he asked, the smirk on his face changing to a frown. "At that boy," said Phoebe, looking at the back of him; "he is so funny." Jeremiah, turning, really saw a ragged little boy approaching them. It was a fortunate escape for Phoebe, who went toward the little fellow and asked him what he wanted. "I wants to see the young lady of the 'ouse," said the boy. "Are you 'er?" "Yes." "I'm to give yer this, and run away." A faithful messenger. He gave a small brown paper parcel to Phoebe, and scuttled away as fast as his little legs would carry him. Phoebe, wondering, opened the parcel, and there lay a few wild daisies, accompanied by a piece of white paper, upon which was written, "With Tom Barley's humble duty. For ever and ever." It was shocking writing, and Phoebe had some difficulty in deciphering it; but it brought the tears to her eyes. She put the paper in her pocket, and pinned the daisies at her bosom. "I beg your pardon for leaving you," said Phoebe to Jeremiah. "And now I must go to my friends." "You might offer me a cup of tea, miss," he said. "Yes, I will, though I am afraid it is almost cold."