ly amusement; but the ladies were on
business. Even Derette followed her mother, armed with a smaller basket
than the rest. Little Rudolph was left with Countess, who preferred him
to the fair; and such is the power of habit that our friends had now
become quite accustomed to this, and would give a nod and a smile to
Countess when they met, just as they did to any other neighbour. This
does not mean that they entertained an atom less of prejudice against
Jews in general; they had merely got over their prejudice in the case of
that one Jewish girl in particular.

Isel's business was heavy enough. She wanted a pig, half an ox, twenty
ells of dark blue cloth, a cloak for herself and capes for her
daughters, thirty pairs of slippers--a very moderate allowance for three
women, for slippers were laid in by the dozen pairs in common--fifty
cheeses (an equally moderate reckoning) [Note 1], a load of flour,
another of oatmeal, two quarters of cabbage for salting, six bushels of
beans, five hundred herrings, a barrel of ale, two woollen rugs for
bedclothes, a wooden coffer, and a hundred nails. She had already
bought and salted two sheep from Martin, so mutton was not needed.

"Now, Agnes, what do you want?" she asked.

Agnes, who was following with another basket, replied that she wanted
some stuff for a dress, some flannel for Rudolph, and a few pairs of
shoes. Shoes must have worn only a very short time, considering the
enormous quantity of them usually bought at once.

"And you, Ermine?"

"Nothing but a hood, Mother Isel."

"You're easily satisfied. Well, I'll go first after my pig."

They turned into the Butcher's Row, where in a minute they could
scarcely hear each other speak. The whole air seemed vocal with grunts,
lowing, and bleating, and, the poulterers' booths lying close behind,
crowing and cackling also.

"How much for a good bacon pig?" screamed Isel to a fat butcher, who was
polishing a knife upon a wooden block.

"Hertford kids? I have none."

"Bacon pig!" screamed Isel a little louder.

"Oh! Well, look you, there's a nice one--twenty pence; there's a rare
fine one--twenty-two; there's a--"

"Bless thee, man! dost thou think I'm made of money?"

"Shouldn't wonder if you'd a pot laid by somewhere," said the butcher
with a knowing wink. He was an old acquaintance.

"Well, I haven't, then: and what's more, I've plenty to do with the few
marks I have. Come now, I'll give you sixteen pence