The sick man heaved a deep sigh, turned over on his side, and dropped into a quiet slumber--whether under the influence of a more trustful spirit or of exhaustion we cannot say--probably both. Returning to the shop, Mr Blurt sat down in his old position on the stool and began to meditate. He was interrupted by the entrance of a woman carrying a stuffed pheasant. She pointed out that one of the glass eyes of the creature had got broken, and wished to know what it would cost to have a new one put in. Poor Mr Blurt had not the faintest idea either as to the manufacture or cost of glass eyes. He wished most fervently that the woman had gone to some other shop. Becoming desperate, and being naturally irascible, as well as humorous, he took a grimly facetious course. "My good woman," he said, with a bland smile, "I would recommend you to leave the bird as it is. A dead pheasant can see quite as well with one eye as with two, I assure you." "La! sir, but it don't look so well," said the woman. "O yes, it does; quite as well, if you turn its blind side to the wall." "But we keeps it on a table, sir, an' w'en our friends walk round the table they can't 'elp seein' the broken eye." "Well, then," persisted Mr Blurt, "don't let your friends walk round the table. Shove the bird up against the wall; or tell your friends that it's a humorous bird, an' takes to winking when they go to that side." The woman received this advice with a smile, but insisted nevertheless that a "noo heye" would be preferable, and wanted to know the price. "Well, you know," said Mr Blurt, "that depends on the size and character of the eye, and the time required to insert it, for, you see, in our business everything depends on a life-like turn being given to an eye--or a beak--or a toe, and we don't like to put inferior work out of our hands. So you'd better leave the bird and call again." "Very well, sir, w'en shall I call?" "Say next week. I am very busy just now, you see--extremely busy, and cannot possibly give proper attention to your affair at present. Stay-- give me your address." The woman did so, and left the shop while Mr Blurt looked about for a memorandum-book. Opening one, which was composite in its character-- having been used indifferently as day-book, cashbook, and ledger--he headed a fresh page with the words "Memorandum of Transactions by Enoch Blurt," and made the following entry:-- "A woman--I should have said an idiot--came in and left a pheasant, _minus_ an eye, to be repaired and called for next week." "There!" exclaimed the unfortunate man, shutting the book with emphasis. "Please, sir," said a very small sweet voice. Mr Blurt looked over the top of his desk in surprise, for the owner of the voice was not visible. Getting down from his stool, and coming out of his den, he observed the pretty face and dishevelled head of a little girl not much higher than the counter. "Please, sir," she said, "can you change 'alf a sov?"