THE TINSMITH'S--THE BEAVER BONNETS--A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING--I FAIL
TO SECURE A SISTER--RUBENS AND THE DOLL

Oakford was not a large town. It only boasted of one street, "to be
called a street," as Mr. Buckle phrased it, though two or three lanes,
with more or less pretentious rows of houses, and so forth, ran at
right angles to the High Street. The High Street was a steep hill. It
was tolerably broad, very clean, pebbled and picturesque. The "Crown
Inn" was an old house with an historical legend attached to it.
Several of the shops were also in very old houses, with overhanging
upper stories and most comfortable window seats. Mr. Buckle's was one
of these.

The air of the place was keen, but very healthy, and I seemed to gain
strength with every hour of my stay. With strength, all my interest in
the novelty of the situation woke afresh, and I was delighted with
everything, but especially with the shop.

On the subject of the saddlery business, I must confess that a
difference of opinion existed between myself and my excellent nurse.
She jealously maintained my position as a "young gentleman" and
lodger, against the familiarity into which the Buckles and I fell by
common consent. She served my meals in separate state, and kept
Jemima as well as herself in attendance on my wants. She made my
sitting-room as comfortable as she could, and here it was her wish
that I should sit, when in the house, "like a young gentleman." My
wish, on the contrary, was to be in the shop, and as much as possible
like a grown-up saddler. It did seem so delightful to be always
working at that nice-smelling leather, and to be able to make for
oneself unlimited straps, whips, and other masculine appendages. I was
perfectly happy with spare fragments, cutting out miniature saddles
and straps, stamping lines, punching holes, and mislaying the good
saddler's tools in these efforts; whilst my thoughts were occupied
with many a childish plan for inducing my father to apprentice me to
the worthy Mr. Buckle.

I was a good deal taken with Mr. Buckle's apprentice, a rosy-cheeked
young man, whose dress and manners I endeavoured as much as possible
to imitate. I strutted in imitation of his style of walking down the
High Street, and about this time Nurse Bundle was wont to say she
"couldn't think what had come to" my hat, that it was "always stuck on
one side." Pondering the history of Dick Whittington and the fair
Alice, I said one day to Jem