Which is the way to the market?" says I.

"I will show you," says he--which he did--walking by my side till I got
in sight of a long, low, broad-spreading building that seemed all roof,
and stone floors opening everywhere right into the street.

"Now," says the young gentleman, "you won't help finding your way, for
there is Mr. Dempster himself."

He lifted his hat and bowed so politely that I felt impressed with a
desire to reward him. Taking out my pocket-book, I handed him a ten-cent
stamp, with a grateful and most benevolent smile on my countenance. I am
sure of that from the glow I felt. He blushed--he seemed to choke--he
stepped back and put on his hat with a jerk, but he didn't reach out his
hand with the grateful spontaneosity I expected. His modesty touched me.

"Take it," says I, "it is no more than you deserve."

"Excuse me," says he; and his face was as red as a fireman's jacket.

"Good-afternoon;" and as true as you live he went off without taking the
money. I never saw anything like it.

XXXII.

A DEMOCRATIC LUNCH.

As soon as I could recover from the surprise any New England woman would
feel at a thing like this, I saw Cousin Dempster coming toward me.

"Come, hurry up," says he. "You were so late, I thought perhaps you had
misunderstood, and come directly here. This way; be careful where you
step; Fulton market is not the neatest place on earth."

I was careful, and lifting the skirt of my alpaca dress between my thumb
and finger, gave a nipping jump, and cleared a gutter that ran between
Cousin D. and myself. Then we walked into the market, with a whole crowd
of other people, and trained along between baskets and square wooden
pens heaped up with oranges, and things called bananas--gold-colored,
and bunched-up like sausages, but awful good to eat. Potatoes, apples,
books, peanuts, chestnuts, pies, cakes, and no end of things, were
heaped on high benches on each side of us wherever we turned, till at
last we passed through an encampment of empty meat-stands, and from that
into a wooden lane with open rooms on one hand, and piles on piles of
oysters on each side the door.

Every one of these rooms had a great rousing fire burning and roaring
before it, and a lot of men diving in amongst the oysters, with sharp
knives in their hands.

"Let us go in here," says Cousin Dempster, turning toward one of the
rooms that looked cheerful and neat as a pin. The floor was sprinkled
with white s