So at the next farm, which was half hidden by trees, like the picture at the beginning of "Sensible Susan," we tied the pony to the gate-post and knocked at the door. It was opened by a man this time, and Dora said to him-- "We are honest traders. We are trying to sell these things to keep a lady who is poor. If you buy some you will be helping too. Wouldn't you like to do that? It is a good work, and you will be glad of it afterwards, when you come to think over the acts of your life." "Upon my word an' 'onner!" said the man, whose red face was surrounded by a frill of white whiskers. "If ever I see a walkin' Tract 'ere it stands!" "She doesn't mean to be tractish," said Oswald quickly; "it's only her way. But we really are trying to sell things to help a poor person--no humbug, sir--so if we _have_ got anything you want we shall be glad. And if not--well, there's no harm in asking, is there, sir?" The man with the frilly whiskers was very pleased to be called "sir"--Oswald knew he would be--and he looked at everything we'd got, and bought the head-stall and two tin-openers, and a pot of marmalade, and a ball of string, and a pair of braces. This came to four and twopence, and we were very pleased. It really seemed that our business was establishing itself root and branch. When it came to its being dinner-time, which was first noticed through H.O. beginning to cry and say he did not want to play any more, it was found that we had forgotten to bring any dinner. So we had to eat some of our stock--the jam, the biscuits, and the cucumber. "I feel a new man," said Alice, draining the last of the ginger-beer bottles. "At that homely village on the brow of yonder hill we shall sell all that remains of the stock, and go home with money in both pockets." But our luck had changed. As so often happens, our hearts beat high with hopeful thoughts, and we felt jollier than we had done all day. Merry laughter and snatches of musical song re-echoed from our cart, and from round it as we went up the hill. All Nature was smiling and gay. There was nothing sinister in the look of the trees or the road--or anything. Dogs are said to have inside instincts that warn them of intending perils, but Pincher was not a bit instinctive that day somehow. He sported gaily up and down the hedge-banks after pretending rats, and once he was so excited that I believe he was playing at weasels and stoats. But of course there was really no trace of these savage denizens of the jungle. It was just Pincher's varied imagination. We got to the village, and with joyful expectations we knocked at the first door we came to. Alice had spread out a few choice treasures--needles, pins, tape, a photograph-frame, and the butter, rather soft by now, and the last of the tin-openers--on a basket-lid, like the fish-man does with herrings and whitings and plums and apples (you cannot sell fish in the country unless you sell fruit too. The author does not know why this is).