" replied Peony. "The dear ol' Soup never comes 'ome of a
moonlight night. It's my belief she goes to Maiden'ead among the Jews,
to keep out of the wiy, and 'oo's to blime 'er?"

"Well, that's all right," said Sarah Brown. "For now I shall be able to
buy--without pawning anything for the moment--a little land outfit from
stock. I know she has some."

The night was by then far from young, in fact it was well into its
second childhood. But Sarah Brown and the Dog David sought and tried on
land outfits for several hours.

The shop was divided into three horizontal departments. Nearest the
floor were the foodstuffs; biscuit tins buttressed the counter on every
side; regiments of Grape-nuts, officered by an occasional Quaker Oat,
stood in review order all round the lower shelves. On the counter little
castles of tinned fruit were built, while bins beneath it held the
varied grain, cereal, and magic stock. About on a level with one's head
the hardware department began: frying-pans lolled with tin coffee-pots
over racks, dust-pans divorced from their brushes were platonically
attached to flat-irons or pie-dishes, Stephen's Inks were allied with
penny mugs or tins of boot polish in an invasion of the middle shelves,
and a wreath of sponges crowned the champion of a row of kettles in
shining armour. Against the ceiling the drapery section was found.
Overalls, ready-made breeches, babies' socks, and pink flannelette
mysteries hung doubled up as if in pain over strings nailed to the
rafters. From this department Sarah Brown, balanced upon three large
biscuit tins placed on the counter, chose her outfit with vanity and
care. The general effect was not good, but she did not know this, for
she studied the parts separately in a six-inch mirror. She was filled
with a simple pleasure. For she was always absurdly moved by little
excitements, and by any prospect of a changed to-morrow. She was not
really used to being alive at all, and that is what made her take to
magic so kindly.

"In six hours," she said, "I shall be on my way to something utterly
new."

And in six hours she was on her way, whistling, across the Parish of
Faery. The Dog David ran in front of her among the daisies. The rabbits
can never be caught in this land of happy animals, but they give good
sport and always play fair.

David Blessing Brown, a dog of independent yet loving habit, had spent
about four-fifths of his life in the Brown family. He was three years