"Peter Pokerich!" screamed Thomasine, starting to her feet, and assuming an attitude of distraction.
"Mercy on us! what's the matter, Tommy?" cried the mercer, in surprise.
"Don't ask me, father," rejoined the young lady, gasping like a tragic actress, and passing her hand across her brow as if to clear off some imaginary hair; her own auburn tresses being trimly secured beneath a pretty little fly cap. "Tell me, Jacob," she added, catching his arm, "Is my—is Peter—is he Hilda Scarve's lover?—has he declared his passion?—is he acepted?—tell me all, Jacob, and whatever effort it may cost me, I will bear it."
"I've nothing more to tell than this," replied Jacob, who listened with imperturbable calmness to this passionate and touching address. "He has lately taken to following Miss Hilda when she goes out to walk with her aunt."
"But has not dared to address her, Jacob?" cried Thomasine, breathlessly.
"Not till the other day," replied Jacob, "and then he stopped her just as she was entering the house. Luckily, I was there, and I gave him a taste of my crabstick, which I'll engage he'll remember."
"Cudgelled!—Peter false, and cudgelled!—cruel, yet kind, Jacob!" cried Thomasine, relaxing her hold, and staggering back. "This is too much—support me, mother!"
"What's the matter with you, Tommy, I say?—are you going distracted?" cried the mercer.
"Fetch the ratafia, my dear, and don't ask questions," replied his wife. "Don't you see there's been a secret attachment?" she added, in an under tone; "that deceitful little barber has played her false. But I'll bring him to his sense. I'll warrant him. Poor thing! this is just the state I was thrown into when I heard of your going to Stourbridge fair with cousin Sally. The ratafia! the ratafia!—quick! quick!"
The mercer opened a cupboard, took out the cordial, gave it to his wife, and then motioning to Jacob to follow him, rushed so precipitately out of the room that he overset a person who was listening at the door, and who proved to be no other than Peter Pokerich.
"What! you here, sir!" cried Mr. Deacle, in astonishment. Then you have heard what has passed. Go in to my daughter, and make her mind easy directly."
"If he doesn't I'll give him another taste of the crabstick," said Jacob.
"But it would be highly indecorous, improper, in me to go in just now, Mr. Deacle," remonstrated Peter.
"Not more indecorous than listening at the door," rejoined the mercer. "Go in directly, sir."
"Ay, go!" added Jacob.
And Peter, seeing that opposition was in vain, opened the door and sneaked in. A stifled scream and an hysterical laugh succeeded his entrance.
The mercer accompanied Jacob to the street door; and, as he passed through the shop, pointed out the different rich stuffs to him.
"I wish you could induce your young mistress to come and look at my assortment of stuffs," he said; "it is the choicest in town, though I say it, who should not say it. I have garden silks, Italian silks, brocades, tissues, cloth of silver, ditto gold, fine Mantua silks, right Genoa velvets, English ditto, embossed ditto. Or if she wants commoner stuffs, I have fine thread satins, both striped and plain, fine Mohair silks, satinets, burdets, Persianets, Norwich crapes, anterines, silks for hoods and scarves, hair camlets, saga-
