Yes, my georgeous angel, sit down by the poor bodies' fire, and eat a sweatmeat.

We want to ask you a question or two; only first put that serpent away.
_Myself_.

I can sit down, and bid the serpent go to sleep, that's easy enough; but as for eating a sweetmeat, how can I do that?
I have not got one, and where am I to get it?
_Woman_.

Never fear, my tiny tawny, we can give you one, such as you never ate, I dare say, however far you may have come from.
The serpent sunk into his usual resting-place, and I sat down on the stool.

The woman opened a box, and took out a strange little basket or hamper, not much larger than a man's fist, and formed of a delicate kind of matting.