It was then, gazing in the window, on that memorable day when he had made his first confession, that John had seen the little brass man. He stood there on a glass shelf along with dozens of other unredeemed trinkets, his low-crowned top-hat, his long-tailed, slim-waisted, Georgian coat and many-buttoned vest, giving him an air of distinction which none of the other objects around him possessed. His attitude, his pose, was that of a _Chevalier d’honneur_--a chivalrous, courteous, proud old gentleman. The one hand resting on the hip, was full of dignity. The other stretched out as though to reach something, John came later, on acquaintance, to learn the fuller significance of that. But though all the features of his face were worn away by hands that had held him, gripping him as they pressed him down, a seal upon the molten wax, it had no power to lessen his undeniable dignity. For all his shapelessness of eyes and nose and mouth, there was not an inch thereby detracted from his stature. From the first moment that he had seen him, the little brass man had taken his stand in John’s mind as the figure of all nobility, all honour, and all cleanliness and generosity of heart. To see that little figure in brass was to covet him. John walked back without hesitation into the shop; but this time it was through the jeweller’s entrance--this time it was with the confidence of one who comes to buy, not to sell, with the self-righteousness of the virtue of two pounds four and eleven-pence, not with the shame of the sin of poverty. Ah, they treat you differently on this side of the counter. If you were ordering a High Mass to be sung, the priest of poverty could treat you with no greater deference. They may have thought he was mad--most probably they did. It is not characteristic of the man who comes without a penny to pay for the ticket as he pawns his watch, to immediately purchase, haphazard, a little trinket that is of no use to anyone. The high priest of poverty, himself, will tell you that the sin must weigh heavy with need upon the mind before the tongue can bring itself to confess. They had looked at him in no little surprise as he re-entered; but when he had asked to be shown the little brass man, they cast glances from one to another, as people do when they think they are in the presence of a wandering mind. "How much do you want for it?" John had asked. "Seven and six. It’s very good--an old seal, you know, quite an antique." John considered the one pound fifteen which he owed out of that two pounds four and elevenpence. "I’m afraid that’s too much," said he. "Ah--it’s worth it. Why, that’s over a hundred years old--quite unique." "I’m afraid it’s too much," John repeated. "Well--look here--I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You can have it for seven shillings, and we’ll give you six on it any day you like to bring it back."