An oldish woman with a long nose (the Ottinge nose) stood stiffly behind the counter; at her left the window was full of stale confectionery, biscuit tins, sticky sweets in glass bottles, oranges and apples in candle boxes; heaps of Rickett’s blue, and some fly-blown advertisements. Behind Mrs. Topham were two shelves dedicated to “the library,” which consisted of remarkably dirty and battered sixpenny novels; these she hired to the village at the generous price of a penny a volume for one week. To the left of the entrance were more shelves, piled with cheap toys, haberdashery, and china; and here ended the front of the shop. Concealed by a low screen were tins of oil, a barrel of ginger ale on tap, and a large frying-pan full of dripping. The remainder of the premises was abandoned to the greengrocery business on a large scale--onions, potatoes, and cabbages in generous profusion. “Good-morning, Mrs. Topham,” said Miss Morven. “What a wet day! How is your cough?” “Oh, I’m amongst the middlings, miss. What can I do for you?” “I want some brass-headed carpet nails, and my aunts have sent a list;” and she motioned to Wynyard. Mrs. Topham seized upon it with her long, yellow fingers (they resembled talons)--the Manor were good customers. “You can send over the things, Mrs. Topham; but I want the nails now.” “I’m sure, miss, I’ve got ’em, but I can’t just rightly think where they be.” As she spoke, she turned out a drawer and rummaged through it violently, and then another; the contents of these gave one an idea of what is seriously understood by the word “chaos”: wool, toffee, night-lights, dog biscuits, and pills were among the ingredients. “Try the blue box,” suggested Aurea, who was evidently acquainted with the resources of the establishment. The blue box yielded nothing but a quantity of faded pink ribbon, a few postcards of the church and Drum, a dozen tennis balls, some small curling-pins, and several quires of black-edged paper. “Why, if that isn’t the very thing I was looking for last week!” exclaimed Mrs. Topham, as she pounced on the paper. “And now Miss Jakes she’s bin and got it over at Brodfield; ’tis a cruel chance to be near a big town--and so there’s for you!” As the search for nails promised to be protracted, Miss Morven turned to Wynyard and said-- “You need not wait; please take the lampshade on, and say that I’m coming.”