He tapped at the cottage door. A labouring man opened it.

“Do you know how this stone came here, my friend?” inquired the benevolent Mr. Pickwick.

“No, I doan’t, Sir,” replied the man civilly. “It was here long afore I was born, or any on us.”

Mr. Pickwick glanced triumphantly at his companion.

“You⁠—you⁠—are not particularly attached to it, I dare say,” said Mr. Pickwick, trembling with anxiety. “You wouldn’t mind selling it, now?”

“Ah! but who’d buy it?” inquired the man, with an expression of face which he probably meant to be very cunning.