But here Herr Gottfried came to the rescue. “See you,” he said with an air of pride, “it is thus that they are arranged. Here you have the Novel--Brontë, Bulwer, Bunyan (“The Pilgrim's Progress,” that is not a novel but it is near enough). Here you have History, and here the Poets, and here Philosophy and here Travel--it will all be simple in time--” Peter's eyes spun dizzily to the heights. “There is a little ladder,” said Herr Gottfried. “And,” at last said Peter timidly, “May I--read--when there is no one here?” Herr Gottfried looked at him with a new interest. “You like reading?” “Like!” Peter's voice was an ecstasy. “Why of course, often.” Herr Gottfried smiled. “And then see! (he opened the shop door) there is a small boy, James, who is supposed to look after these (these were the 1_d_., 2_d_. and 3_d_. boxes outside the window, on the pavement) but he is an idle boy and often enough he is not there and then we must have the door open and you must watch them. Often enough (this seemed a favourite phrase of his) these gentlemen (this with great scorn) will turn the books over and over and they will look up the street once and they will look down the street once, and then into the pocket a book will go--often enough,” he added, looking beyond the door savagely at a very tired and tattered lady who was turning the 1_d_. lot over and over. Then, this introductory lesson concluded, Herr Gottfried suddenly withdrew into the tangles of his hair and retreated behind his counter. Through the open door there came the most entrancing sound and the bustle of the street was loud and startling--bells ringing, boys shouting, wheels rattling, and beyond these immediate notes a steady hum like the murmur of an orchestra heard through closed doors. All this was wonderful enough but it was nothing at all to the superlative fascination of that multitude of books. Peter found a hard little chair in a dark corner and sat down upon it. Here he was in the very heart of his kingdom! He could never read all the books in this place if he lived for two hundred years... and so he had better not try. He made a blind dash at the volumes nearest him (quietly lest he should disturb Herr Gottfried who seemed very busy at his counter) and secured something and read it as well as he could, for the light was very bad. It was called “The True and Faithful Experiences of the Reverend James Scott in the Other World Being a Veracious History of his Experiences of the Life after Death”--the dust rose from its pages in little clouds and tempted him to sneeze but he bit his lip and counted forty and saved the situation.