the shop; to open quaint cases, to go upstairs and out upon an old
gallery and to lift from their drawers silken crapes, and to find,
buried away, whispering sea-shells and crystal bottles, and irregular
pieces of blue-veined marble and alabaster. Oh, the happy, thrilling
hours I spent in that place! My grandmother told me that scholars came
from every part of the country to see this tucked-away, historic old
pawn shop."

Drusilla paused, but in a moment to the children's relief she went on:
"Then on a quite busy street, back this side of the canal, the side we
lived on, was a large place called an ovenry. And there we sent our
bread to be baked."

The children's eyes widened.

"Yes," went on Drusilla, "we put our dough to rise at home, made it into
little loaves, pricked our initial--or some other distinguishing
mark--on top when it lay in its pans, and then a big red-faced man with
a wagon drawn by a donkey called for our bread. Once my grandmother let
me ride with him, and I stayed all afternoon in his ovenry, though the
fire from the big ovens made it uncomfortably hot. I watched him and his
helpers put the pans of bread on big shovels and heave them into yawning
caves of flames. When they were finished, another red-faced man
delivered them baked brown, and smoking, to the customers. We paid a
penny a loaf for having our bread baked."

"Oh, and that saved you buying so much coal, didn't it?" asked Maizie.
"I wish we had an ovenry in Anchorville."

"Yes," said Drusilla, "I think, myself, some of these old-fashioned
ideas were economical."

"There isn't a pawn shop anywhere near, is there?" asked Suzanna. She
was thinking about the shoes and what a blessing it would be to dispose
of them.

"I don't believe so," Drusilla answered. "Anyway, there couldn't be
another like that wonderful shop of my youth."

There ensued a silence. Suddenly leaning forward, Suzanna began very
earnestly:

"Drusilla, I have a very important question to ask you. Which would you
rather do, be honest or suffer?"

"Be honest or suffer?" repeated Drusilla. "I don't quite understand."

"Well, you see, it's this way," said Suzanna. "Now, Maizie, I see you're
listening with your eyes wide open, and I want to tell you now that you
mustn't say anything to father of what I'm going to tell Drusilla."
Having delivered this ultimatum, she went on and told of the Indian
Drill and of the costumes, and then of her father's recent purchase of