le at the tall shopman, who looked down upon
her with grave benignity, as he produced the articles required.

"D'you kape turpentine?" said Matty, as they were about to quit the
shop.

Boone started, and said almost testily, "No, I _don't_. Why do you
ask?"

"Sure, there's no sin in askin'," replied Matty in surprise at the man's
changed manner.

"Of course--of course not," rejoined Boone with a slight look of
confusion, as he made a sudden assault with his pocket-handkerchief on
the cat, which was sleeping innocently in the window; "git out o' that,
you brute; you're always agoin' in the winder, capsizin' things. There!
you've been an' sat on the face o' that 'ere wax doll till you've a'most
melted it. Out o' that with you! No, Miss Merryon," he added, turning
to the girl with his wonted urbanity, "I don't keep turpentine, and I
was only surprised you should ask for it in a toy-shop; but you'll get
it of Mr White next door. I don't believe there's anythink in the
world as he can't supply to his customers."

David Boone bowed them out, and then re-entered the back-shop, shaking
his head slowly from side to side.

"I don't like it--I don't even like to think of it, Gorman," he said to
a big low-browed man who sat smoking his pipe beside the little
fireplace, the fire in which was so small that its smoke scarcely
equalled in volume that of the pipe he smoked: "No, I _don't_ like it,
and I _won't do it_."

"Well, well, you can please yourself," said Gorman, knocking the ashes
out of his pipe, and placing it in his vest pocket as he rose and
buttoned his thick pea-jacket up to the chin; "but I'll tell you what it
is, if you _are_ a descendant of the hunter of the far west that you
boast so much about, it's precious little of his pluck that you've got;
an' so I tell 'ee to your face, David Boone. All I've got to say is,
that you'd better be wise and take my advice, and think better of it."

So saying, Gorman went out, and slammed the door after him.

Meanwhile, Miss Matty Merryon, having purchased a small phial of
turpentine, returned to Number 6, and ushered Willie Willders into the
presence of her mistress.

Miss Emelina Tippet was neither tall nor stiff, nor angular nor bony; on
the contrary, she was little and plump, and not bad-looking. And people
often wondered why Miss Tippet _was_ Miss Tippet and was not Mrs
Somebody-else. Whatever the reason was, Miss Tippet never divulged it,
so we won't specul