“That’s it, me dear. That’s what they say, whether true or not, of course, I don’t know; but there be the finger-marks, right enough, an’ that’s what they say in our trade.”

It was on Jerry’s cart tomatoes first appeared in the hamlet. They had not long been introduced into this country and were slowly making their way into favour. The fruit was flatter in shape then than now and deeply grooved and indented from the stem, giving it an almost star like appearance. There were bright yellow ones, too, as well as the scarlet; but, after a few years, the yellow ones disappeared from the market and the red ones became rounder and smoother, as we see them now.

At first sight, the basket of red and yellow fruit attracted Laura’s colour-loving eye. “What are those?” she asked old Jerry.

“Love-apples, me dear. Love-apples, they be; though some hignorant folks be a callin’ ‘em tommytoes. But you don’t want any o’ they—nasty sour things, they be, as only gentry can eat. You have a nice sweet orange wi’ your penny.” But Laura felt she must taste the love-apples and insisted upon having one.

Such daring created quite a sensation among the onlookers. “Don’t ‘ee go tryin’ to eat it, now,” one woman urged. “It’ll only make ‘ee sick. I know because I had one of the nasty horrid things at our Minnie’s.” And nasty, horrid things tomatoes remained in the popular estimation for years; though most people today would prefer them as they were then, with the real tomato flavour pronounced, to the watery insipidity of our larger, smoother tomato.

Mr. Wilkins, the baker, came three times a week. His long, lank figure, girded by a white apron which always seemed about to slip down over his hips, was a familiar one at the end house. He always stayed there for a cup of tea, for which he propped himself up against the end of the dresser. He would never sit down; he said he had not time, and that was why he did not stop to change his flour-dusty bakehouse clothes before he started on his round.

He was no ordinary baker, but a ship’s carpenter by trade who had come to the neighbouring village on a visit to relatives, met his present wife, married her, and cast anchor inland. Her father was old, she was the only child, and the family business had to be attended to; so, partly for love and partly for future gain he had given up the sea, but he still remained a sailor at heart.