iately to business.

'That's a capital notion of an apron!' he said admiringly.

'Ain't it!' she answered. 'Oh, I'm great on notions. I believe in
savin' yourself all the trouble you kin, provided you don't lose no
time by it. There is folks, you know, that air soft-headed enough to
think they kin git rid o' trouble by losin' their time. I ain't o' that
sort.'

'I should say, you have none o' that sort o' people about you.'

'Wall, I don't--not ef I kin help it. Anyhow, ef I get 'em I contrive
to lose 'em agin. But what was you wantin'?'

'I came to see if you could let us have our winter's onions? White
onions, you know. It's all the sort we can do with, up at the house.'

'Onions!' said Mrs. Blumenfeld. 'Why hain't you riz your own onions, I
want to know? You've got a garden.'

'That is true, mum,' said Christopher; 'but all the onions as was in it
is gone.'

'Then you didn't plant enough.'

'And that's true too,' said Christopher; 'but I can't say as I takes
any blame to myself for it.'

'Sakes alive, man! ain't you the gardener?'

'At your service, mum.'

'Wall, then, why, when you were about it, why didn't you sow your seeds
accordin' to your needs?'

'I sowed all the seed I had.'

'All you had!' cried the little woman. 'That sounds kind o' shiftless;
and I don't take you for that sort of a man neither, Mr. Bounder.'

'Much obleeged for your good opinion, mum.'

'Then why didn't you git more onion seed, du tell, when you knowed you
hadn't enough?'

'As I said, mum, I am much obleeged for your good opinion, which I hope
I deserve. There is reasons which must determine a man, upon occasion,
to do what you would not approve--unless you also knowed the reasons.'

This sounded oracular. The two stood and looked at one another.
Christopher explained himself no further; however, Mrs. Blumenfeld's
understanding appeared to improve. She looked first inquisitive, and
then intelligent.

'That comes kind o' hard upon me, at the end,' she said with a somewhat
humorous expression. 'You see, I've made a vow-- You believe in vows,
Mr. Bounder?'

'I do, mum,--of the right sort.'

'I don't make no other. Wall, I've made a vow to myself, you see. Look
here; what do you call that saint o' your'n? up to your house.'

'I don't follow you, mum,' said Christopher, a good deal mystified.

'You know you've got a saint there, I s'pose. What's her name? that's
what I want to know.'

'Do you mean Miss Esther?'