He started at once in search of George, whom he found sitting on a box outside the grocery, consuming an apple which had been given him by the grocer’s wife. Now, if the apple had been Louis’, a part of it would as surely have found its way to George as the early worm finds out the nest where the mother bird’s brood wait to welcome it; but this view of the case did not occur to any one but the good-natured grocery woman, who showed her appreciation of the situation by bestowing another apple on Louis. But before the child would bite even once into its red and tempting cheeks, he related to George all the circumstances concerning the finding of the quarter, and the marvellous purchasing power thereto appertaining. “Where does the thimble-man live?” asked George, when they had planned to buy everything in town,—from a live pony to a penny trumpet. “I don’t know,” said Louis gravely; but the grocery woman, who had been standing in the doorway listening to the conversation, with her hands on her hips, probably to keep her fat sides steady, they shook so with laughter, interrupted them. “Do you know where Martin, the jeweller, lives?” “Yes,” said Louis brightly. “’Tisn’t far; he mended our clock.” “Well,” said the grocery woman, “you go to him, and tell him you want a thimble. Mind you say who it’s for. _Himmel!_ There was a day when he’d have given a thousand thimbles to call your mother Anna Martin.” “That ain’t her name,” said George slowly, “her name is Anna Rolf.” The fat sides shook again. “You do as I tell you,” she said; “and see here, Louis Metzerott, you eat that apple up, do you hear, and don’t give none of it to nobody. Apples is good for boys, they fall in their legs, and make ‘em grow. _Verstanden?_” “Yes, ma’am,” said Louis, obediently taking such a very large bite that he had some difficulty in disposing of it. “And if I was you,” continued the grocery woman, “I’d buy the thimble first, and see how much you have left towards a pony. Fact is, ponies are expensive to feed, anyhow; and I wouldn’t advise you to invest in ‘em just yet. Won’t it do just as well if I buy you each a gingerbread horse, next time I go to market?” “No, ma’am, not _quite_ as well, because a pony is alive, and we could ride on it,” said Louis gravely. “But a gingerbread horse is very good to eat,” he added politely. “Herr Martin,” said Louis, as the two children trotted, hand in hand, into the shop, “we want to buy a thimble.” “Presently, my boy,” said the jeweller, setting upon the counter a tray full of small, dainty-looking pins. “Now, ma’am,” he said; but his customer’s attention had been drawn from his wares to the purer gold that curled under Louis’ woollen cap. “What a dear little boy,” she said, “and so straight and strong!” Her red lip was caught for one moment between her teeth, a mist came over the brown eyes, she turned away, and busied herself in selecting a pin.