“‘How much for them eyes?’ he axes.

“’Do ‘ee want the lot?’ says the chap in the shop, a reg’lar little dandy-sprat, an’ so pert as a jay-pie in June. ’’Cos us makes a reducshun on takin’ a quantity,’ says he.

“‘Wan’ll do for me,’ says Lawyer Mennear.

“‘They be two pund-ten apiece,’ says the whipper-snapper, ‘an’ ten shillin’ for fixin’.’

“Well, sir, you may fancy th’ ould man’s face when he heerd the price.  He sot down, like as ef the wind was tuk out of hes sails, an’ says he—­’I’ll gie thirty shillin.’

“The shopman wudn’ ha’ this; so at et they went, higglin’ an’ hagglin’ on til ‘twas agreed at las’ he shud ha’ the eye for two pund-five, fixin’s included.  ‘Twas like drawin’ blood from a stone; but th’ ould man had done a stroke of bus’ness that day, so in th’ end he pulls out hes bag an’ tells out the money ’pon the counter.

“‘An’ now,’ says the whipper-snapper, ’which’ll ‘ee ha’?  Grey’s the colour, I reckons, ef you wants a match.’

“‘Drat the colour!’ says ould Mennear, ‘I’ve a-paid my price, an’ I’ll ha’ the biggest, ef et be bassomy-red.’ [5]

“Well, the shopman laffs, o’ cou’se, but lets ‘n ha’ hes own way; an’ th’ ould man picked out the biggest—­bright blue et was, suthin’ the colour of a hedgy-sparrer’s egg, an’ shiny-clear like a glass-alley.  They was a brave long while gettin’ et fixed, ’cos ’twas so big.  Ef he’d a-been content an’ took a smaller wan, he’d ha’ done better:  but he was bound to be over-reachin’, was th’ ould varmint, an’ so he comed to grief, as you shall hear.  There’s many folks i’ this world be knowin’ as Kate Mullet.”

“I never heard of that lady,” said Mr. Fogo.

“There’s not much to know, sir, ’cept that they say her was hanged for a fool.  Hows’ever, to shorten the yarn, ould Mennear got hes eye fixed at las’, an’ went home wi’ Aunt Deb’rah so pleased as Punch.

“Nex’ Sunday ’twas Hamlet’s Ghost ’mong the ‘Rig’nal Seceders, an’ no mistake!  Some o’ the female members fell to screamin’ so soon as iver they clapped eyes on th’ ould man, an’ Sister Trudgeon was tuk wi’ a fit, an’ had to be carr’d out wi’ two deacons to her head an’ two to her heels, an’ kickin’ so that Deacon Hoskins cudn’ master hes vittles for up a fortni’t, he was that hurted internally.  An’ the wust was, that what wi’ the rumpus an’ her singin’ out ‘Pillaloo!’ an’ how the devil was amongst mun, havin’ great wrath, the Lawyer’s sarmon about a ‘wecked an’ ‘dulterous generation seekin’ arter a sign’ was clean sp’iled.  Arter the sarvice, too, there was a deal of discussin’.  Some said ‘twas senful to interfere wi’ Natur’ i’ that way, an’ wrong in a purfessin’ Christian like Mennear; an’ all agreed the new eye gave ‘n a janjansy [6] kind o’ look, ‘as ef,’ said Deacon Hoskins, ‘he was blinchin’ [7] fifty ways for Grace.’  There was some talk, too, about axin’ the old man to resign; but nuthin’ came o’t.  An’ arter a time, when