"A pretty grocer's boy you are," she cried, "with your applepiebomenos and your French and lingo.

Am I to be kept waiting for hever ?" "Pardon, fair Maiden," said he, with high-bred courtesy: "'twas not French I read, 'twas the Godlike language of the blind old bard.

In what can I be serviceable to ye, lady ?" and to spring from his desk, to smooth his apron, to stand before her the obedient Shop Boy, the Poet no more, was the work of a moment.
"I might have prigged this box of figs," the damsel said good-naturedly, "and you'd never have turned round." "They came from the country of Hector," the boy said.

"Would you have currants, lady?
These once bloomed in the island gardens of the blue Aegean.

They are uncommon fine ones, and the figure is low; they're fourpence-halfpenny a pound.