None of these. Unless, possibly, the Royal Family. But no. Even to Jeremy’s untrained eye the colour was a _little_ bright; and old Victoria. . . . No, Mary wanted a _book_. He stared up and down the street in great agitation. He must buy _something_ before Miss Jones came out of the inn. He did not want her to see what it was that he bought. The moments were slipping by. There was _nothing_ here. The two half-crowns and the threepenny piece in his tightly clenched palm were hot and sticky. He looked again. There really was _nothing_! Then, staring down the street towards the open moor and the eventual sea, he saw a little bulging bottle-glass window that seemed to have coloured things in it. He turned and almost ran. It was the last shop in the street, and a funny, dumpty, white-washed cottage with a pretty garden on its farther seaward side. The bottle-glass window protected the strangest things. (In another place and at another time it might not be uninteresting to tell the story of Mr. Redpath, of how he opened a curiosity shop in St. Mary’s, of all places! and of the adventures, happy and otherwise, that he encountered there.) In the shop window there were glasses of blue with tapering stems, and squat old men smoking pipes, painted in the gayest colours, and pottery (jugs to drink out of), and there were old chains of beaten and figured silver, and golden boxes, and the model of a ship with full sails and a gorgeous figure-head of red and gold, and there were old pictures in dim frames, and a piece of a coloured rug, and lots and lots of other things as well. Jeremy pushed the door back, heard a little bell tinkle above his head, and at once was in a shop so crowded that it was impossible to see t’other from which. A young man with a pale face and carroty hair was behind the very high counter, so high that Jeremy’s nose just tipped the level of it. “Have you got such a thing as a book?” he asked very politely. The young man smiled. “What sort of a book?” “Well, she _said_ she wanted ‘Queechy’ or ‘Sylvie and Bruno’ or—I’ve forgotten the names of the others. You haven’t got those two, I suppose?” “No, I haven’t,” said the young man, quite grave now. “Have you got _any_ books?” said Jeremy breathlessly, because time was slipping by and he had to stand on his toes. “I’ve got this old Bible,” said the young man, producing a thick, heavy volume with brass clasps. “You see it’s got rather fine pictures. I think you’d better sit on this,” he added, producing a high stool; “you’ll be able to see better.” “Oh, that’s very nice,” said Jeremy, fascinated by Moses twisting a serpent around his very muscular arm as though it were a piece of string. “How much is this?” “Eight pounds and ten,” said the young man, as though he’d said a halfpenny. “I think I’d better tell you at once,” said Jeremy, leaning his elbows confidentially on the counter, “that I’ve only got five shillings and threepence halfpenny.”