'Ah! that's it. I never heerd of a Saint Esther. There was an Esther in
the Bible--I'll tell you! she was a Queen Esther; and that fits. Ain't
she a kind o' a queen! But she's t'other thing too. Look here, Mr.
Bounder; be you all saints up to your house?'

'Well, no, mum, not exactly; that's not altogether the description I'd
give of some of us, if I was stating my opinion.'

'Don't you think you had ought to be that?'

'Perhaps we ought,' said Christopher, with wondering slow admission.

'I kin tell you. There ain't no question about it. Folks had ought to
live up to their privileges; an' you've got a pattern there right afore
your eyes. I hev no opinion of you, ef you ain't all better'n common
folks. I'd be, I know, ef I lived a bit where she was.'

'It's different with a young lady,' Christopher began.

'Why is it different?' said the woman sharply. 'You and me, we've got
as good right to be saints as she has, or anybody. I tell you I've made
a vow. _I_ ain't no saint, but I'm agoin' to sell her no onions.'

'Mum!' said Christopher, astounded.

'Nor nothin' else,' Mrs. Blumenfeld went on. 'How many d'ye want?'

Mr. Bounder's wits were not quick enough to follow these sharp Yankee
turns. Like the ships his countrymen build, he could not come about so
quick. It is curious how the qualities of people's minds get into their
shipbuilding and other handicraft. It was not till Mrs. Blumenfeld had
repeated her question that he was able to answer it.

'I suppose, mum, a half a bushel wouldn't be no more'n enough to go
through with.'

'Wall, I've got some,' the gardener's widow went on; 'the right sort;
white, and as soft as cream, and as sweet as onions kin be. I'll send
you up a bag of 'em.'

'But then I must be allowed to pay for 'em,' said Christopher.

'I tell you, I won't sell her nothin'--neither onions nor nothin' else.'

'Then, mum,--it's very handsome of you, mum; that I must say, and won't
deny--but in that case I am afraid Miss Esther would prefer that I
should get the onions somewheres else.'

'Jes' you hold your tongue about it, an' I'll send up the sass; and ef
your Queen Esther says anything, you tell her it's all paid for. What
else do you want that's my way?'

While she spoke, Mrs. Blumenfeld was carefully detaching a root of
celery from the rich loose soil which enveloped it, and shaking the
white stalks free from their encumbrance, Mr. Bounder the while looking
on approvingly, both at th