"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. Would ye mayhap make trial of our teas? We
do not advertise, as some folks do: but sell as low as any other house."
"You're precious young to have all these good things," the girl
exclaimed, not unwilling, seemingly, to prolong the conversation. "If I
was you, and stood behind the counter, I should be eating figs the whole
day long."
"Time was," answered the lad, "and not long since I thought so too. I
thought I never should be tired of figs. But my old uncle bade me take
my fill, and now in sooth I am aweary of them."
"I think you gentlemen are always so," the coquette said.
"Nay, say not so, fair stranger!" the youth replied, his face kindling
as he spoke, and his eagle eyes flashing fire. "Figs pall; but oh! the
Beautiful never does. Figs rot; but oh! the Truthful is eternal. I was
born, lady, to grapple with the Lofty and the Ideal. My soul yearns for
the Visionary. I stand behind the counter, it is true; but I ponder here
upon the deeds of heroes, and muse over the thoughts of sages.
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