n to stay at home and mind the stock. _Chi
abbaratta_--_baratta_--_b'ratta_? ... And now, young man, where do you
come from, and what's your business in Florence?"

"I thought you liked nothing that came to you without a bargain," said
the stranger. "You've offered me nothing yet in exchange for that
information."

"Well, well; a Florentine doesn't mind bidding a fair price for news: it
stays the stomach a little though he may win no hose by it. If I take
you to the prettiest damsel in the Mercato to get a cup of milk--that
will be a fair bargain."

"Nay; I can find her myself, if she be really in the Mercato; for pretty
heads are apt to look forth of doors and windows. No, no. Besides, a
sharp trader, like you, ought to know that he who bids for nuts and
news, may chance to find them hollow."

"Ah! young man," said Bratti, with a sideway glance of some admiration,
"you were not born of a Sunday--the salt-shops were open when you came
into the world. You're not a Hebrew, eh?--come from Spain or Naples,
eh? Let me tell you the Frati Minori are trying to make Florence as hot
as Spain for those dogs of hell that want to get all the profit of usury
to themselves and leave none for Christians; and when you walk the
Calimara with a piece of yellow cloth in your cap, it will spoil your
beauty more than a sword-cut across that smooth olive cheek of
yours.--_Abbaratta, baratta_--_chi abbaratta_?--I tell you, young man,
grey cloth is against yellow cloth; and there's as much grey cloth in
Florence as would make a gown and cowl for the Duomo, and there's not so
much yellow cloth as would make hose for Saint Christopher--blessed be
his name, and send me a sight of him this day!--_Abbaratta, baratta,
b'ratta_--_chi abbaratta_?"

"All that is very amusing information you are parting with for nothing,"
said the stranger, rather scornfully; "but it happens not to concern me.
I am no Hebrew."

"See, now!" said Bratti, triumphantly; "I've made a good bargain with
mere words. I've made you tell me something, young man, though you're
as hard to hold as a lamprey. San Giovanni be praised! a blind
Florentine is a match for two one-eyed men. But here we are in the
Mercato."

They had now emerged from the narrow streets into a broad piazza, known
to the elder Florentine writers as the Mercato Vecchio, or the Old
Market. This piazza, though it had been the scene of a provision-market
from time immemorial, and may, perhaps,