This process was so slow that the shopman came up to me and asked what I wanted.

I took a well-warmed farthing from the handful I carried, and laid it on the counter, saying-- "A flat iron, if you please." He put several before me, and after making a show of testing them on the end of my comforter, I selected one at random.

I know that I did not do it with half the air which the little grey-beavered lady had thrown over the proceeding, but I hardly deserved the scornful tone in which she addressed no one in particular with the remark, "He has no business with flat irons.

He's only a boy." She evidently expected no reply, for without a pause she proceeded to count out five farthings on to the counter, saying as she did so, "A frying-pan, a gridiron, a dish, and two plates, if you please." On which, to my astonishment, miniature specimens of these articles, made of the same material as the flat irons, were produced from the box whence those had come.

I was so bewildered by the severity of the little lady's remarks, and the wonderful things which she obtained for her farthings, that I dropped my remaining seven on to the shop floor, and was still grubbing for them in the dust, when the children having finished their shopping, came backwards off the seats as usual.