There was a sprinkling of men--middle-aged mostly, and bald. There were a few youths; by some fatality all were fair, and reminded Judy of pork. A Tabby stopped at her stall, turned over all things and bought a beaded table-napkin ring. The purchase and the purchaser seemed to Judy to typify her whole life and surroundings. All her soul reached out to the Island. She sighed, then she looked up. The crowd had thickened since she last surveyed it. Four steps led down to the schoolroom from the outer world: on the top step was a lady, well dressed--oh! marvel!--and beside her a man--a gentleman. Well, Judy supposed all these poor dear people were gentlefolk, but these two were of her world. As she gazed her eyes and those of the man met; the lady was lost in the crowd, and Judy saw her no more. The man made straight for the stall where were the framed sketches, the white dress, fur-trimmed, the russet hair and green eyes of Judy, and the brownly-black, blue-ribboned Alcibiades. But before he reached them a wave of buyers broke on the shore of Judy's stall, and he had been watching her for nearly half an hour before a young woman's long-deferred choice of a Christmas gift for a grandfather fell happily on a pair of purple bed-socks, and, for the moment, Judy breathed free. "I told you so," said the Aunt, rattling money in a leather bag; "I _knew_ just before Christmas was _the_ time. Everybody _has_ to give Christmas presents to all their relations. You see! the things are going like wildfire." "Yes, Aunt," said Judy. Alcibiades took advantage of the momentary calm to lick her hand exhaustively. Judy wondered wearily what had become of the man, the only man in that cheerless assembly who looked as though he liked dogs. "He must have been trying to get somewhere else," she said; "he just looked in here by mistake, and when he saw the sort of people we were, he--well--I don't wonder," she sighed, and, raising her eyes, met his. "I beg your pardon," said he. He meant apology. She took it for enquiry, and smiled. "Do you want to buy something?" she asked. Her smile was more tired than she knew. "I suppose I do," he said; "one does at bazaars, don't you know." "Do you want a Christmas present?" asked Judy, businesslike; "if so, and if you will tell me what kind of relation you want it for, perhaps I can find something that they'd like." "Could you? Now, that is really good. I want things for two aunts, three cousins, a little sister, and my mother--but I needn't get _hers_ here unless you've got something you think really--By Jove!"--his eyes had caught the sketches--"are _those_ for sale?" "That is rather the idea," said Judy. Her spirits were rising, though she couldn't have told you why. "Things at a bazaar are usually for sale, aren't they?" "Everything?" said he--and he stroked the not resentful neck of Alcibiades; "this good little beast isn't in the market, I'm afraid?" "Why? Would you buy him?"