"Not much to speak of; that's the truth. Why, bless you, Mrs. Gray," he added, turning confidentially towards her, "you never saw such a poor object as that counter was in all your born days. It caught my eye at the corner of one of them second-hand shops in the New Cut. The man was standing at the door, whistling, with his hands in his pockets. 'That's fire-wood,' says I to him. 'No 'tain't, it's as good a counter as ever a sovereign was changed on.' 'My good man,' says I, 'it's firewood, and I'll give you five shillings for it.' Law, but you should have seen how he looked at me. Well, to cut a long story short, he swore it was a counter, and I swore it was firewood, and so, at length, I give him ten shillings for it, and brought it home and cleaned it down, and scraped the dirt, inch thick, off, and washed it, and painted it, and polished it, and look at it now, Mrs. Gray, look at it now!" "It's just like mahogany!" enthusiastically cried Mary, "ain't it. Miss Gray?" "Not quite, dear," mildly said Rachel, who was truth itself, "but it looks very nice. But, Mr. Jones," she added, in a low timid voice, "why did you tell the man it was firewood, when you meant it as a counter?" Jones wagged his head, winked, and touching his nose with his right hand forefinger, he whispered knowingly: "That was business, Miss Gray, and in business, you know--hem!" "But the Teapot, father," cried Mary, "where's the Teapot?" "Why, here's the Tea-pot," exclaimed Jones, suddenly producing this masterpiece of art, and holding it up aloft to the gaze of the beholders. Such a Teapot had never been seen before, and, most probably, will never be seen again, to the end of time. Its shape we will not, because we cannot describe. It confounded Rachel, and startled even Mrs. Gray. She coughed, and looked at it dubiously. "Where's the lid?" she said. "Why, here's the lid; but it don't take off, you know." "Oh! I see. And that's the handle." "The handle! bless you, Mrs. Gray, it's the spout." "Well, but where's the handle, then?" "Why, here's the handle, to be sure," replied Jones, rather nettled, "don't you see?" Mrs. Gray said she did; but we are inclined to believe she did not. However, Jones was satisfied; and, setting down the wooden Teapot--we forgot to say that it was flaming red--on the counter, he surveyed it complacently. "I spent a week on that Teapot," he said "didn't I, Mary?" "Ten days, father." "Well, one must not grudge time or trouble, must one, Mrs. Gray? And now, ladies, we'll put away the Teapot, and step into the parlour, and have a cup of tea, eh?"