'
"While they were thus engaged the lady of the caravan alighted on
the earth, and with her hands clasped behind her, and her large
bonnet trembling excessively, walked up and down in a measured
tread and very stately manner surveying the caravan from time to
time with an air of calm delight and deriving particular
gratification from the red panels and brass knocker. When she had
taken this gentle exercise for some time, she sat down upon the
steps and called 'George,' whereupon a man in a carter's frock, who
had been so shrouded in a hedge up to this time as to see
everything that passed without being seen himself, parted the twigs
that concealed him and appeared in a sitting attitude supporting on
his legs a baking dish, and a half gallon stone bottle, and bearing
in his right hand a knife, and in his left a fork.
"'Yes, missus,' said George.
"'How did you find the cold pie, George?'
"'It worn't amiss, mum.'
"'And the beer?' said the lady of the caravan with an appearance of
being more interested in this question than the last, 'is it
passable, George?'
"'It's more flatterer than it might be,' George returned, 'but it
a'nt so bad for all that.'
"To set the mind of his mistress at rest, he took a sip (amounting
in quantity to a pint or thereabouts) from the stone bottle, and
then smacked his lips, winked his eye, and nodded his head.
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