“Why, ma'am, if all they say is true, every one knows him, and nobody knows him. He's known as the _Cannie Soogah_, or jolly pedlar. They say, that although he prefers this kind of life, he's very wealthy. One person will tell you that he's a great rogue, and would cheat Satan himself, and others say he's generous and charitable. In other respects,” continued. Lilly, blushing, “he's not very well spoken of, but it may be false. I have always found him myself very civil; and them that spoke harshly of him were people that he kept at a distance.” The pedlar ceased his song as soon as they made their appearance in the parlor, into which Lilly admitted him for the sake of mutual convenience. “Here's a shawl--a beautiful shawl, Mr. ---- what's this your name is?” “The name that I have for set days and bonfire nights,” he replied, “is one I seldom tell,” and at the same time there was a dry air of surprise about him on hearing her ask the question; “but the name I am generally known by is the _Cannie Soogah_, which manes, ma'am,” he added, addressing himself in a respectful manner to Mrs. Temple, “the jolly merchant or pedlar.” “Well, Cannie,” said Lilly, pronouncing the word with more familiarity than could have been expected from their apparent unaquaintance with each other, “here's a beautiful shawl that my mistress made me a present of.” “No, Lilly,” said her mistress, with severity--for she neither could nor would sanction the falsehood, however delicately and well intended--“no, do not mislead the man, nor state anything but the truth. The shawl is mine, my good man, and I wish to dispose of it.” The pedlar looked at it, and replied, in a tone of disappointment, “Yes, ma'am, but I'm afeard it's beyant my manes; I know the value of it right well, and it's seldom ever the likes of it was in my pack. What are you axin', ma'am? it's as good as new.” “I think it cost twelve or thirteen guineas, as well as I can remember,” she replied; “but it is not what it cost, but what you are now disposed to give for it, that I am anxious to know.” “Well, ma'am, you know I must look upon it as--hem--as a second--ha--at all events,” he proceeded, checking himself with more delicacy than could be expected from him--“you must admit that it isn't new.” “Certainly,” said she, “it has been more than eight years in my possession, although, at the same time, I believe I have not worn it more than half a dozen times.” “Well, ma'am,” replied the pedlar, “I know the value of the shawl something betther even than yourself. If you will take six guineas for it, we will deal; more I cannot afford, for I must at once tell, you the truth, that I may carry it about these twelve months before I find any one that knows its value.”