rticulate, thin fluting of an old
man's voice streamed forth. This, alternating with the squeak of a quill
pen, went on till the alarum clock once more went off. Then he who stood
outside could smell that Mr. Stone would shortly eat; if, stimulated
by that scent, he entered; he might see the author of the "Book of
Universal Brotherhood" with a baked potato in one hand and a cup of
hot milk in the other; on the table, too, the ruined forms of eggs,
tomatoes, oranges, bananas, figs, prunes, cheese, and honeycomb, which
had passed into other forms already, together with a loaf of wholemeal
bread. Mr. Stone would presently emerge in his cottage-woven tweeds,
and old hat of green-black felt; or, if wet, in a long coat of yellow
gaberdine, and sou'wester cap of the same material; but always with a
little osier fruit-bag in his hand. Thus equipped, he walked down to
Rose and Thorn's, entered, and to the first man he saw handed the osier
fruit-bag, some coins, and a little book containing seven leaves, headed
"Food: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday," and so forth. He then stood looking
through the pickles in some jar or other at things beyond, with one
hand held out, fingers upwards, awaiting the return of his little osier
fruit-bag. Feeling presently that it had been restored to him, he
would turn and walk out of the shop. Behind his back, on the face of
the department, the same protecting smile always rose. Long habit
had perfected it. All now felt that, though so very different from
themselves, this aged customer was dependent on them. By not one single
farthing or one pale slip of cheese would they have defrauded him for
all the treasures of the moon, and any new salesman who laughed at that
old client was promptly told to "shut his head."

Mr. Stone's frail form, bent somewhat to one side by the increased
gravamen of the osier bag, was now seen moving homewards. He arrived
perhaps ten minutes before the three o'clock alarum, and soon passing
through preliminary chaos, the articulate, thin fluting of his voice
streamed forth again, broken by the squeaking and spluttering of his
quill.

But towards four o'clock signs of cerebral excitement became visible;
his lips would cease to utter sounds, his pen to squeak. His face, with
a flushed forehead, would appear at the open window. As soon as the
little model came in sight--her eyes fixed, not on his window, but on
Hilary's--he turned his back, evidently waiting for her to enter by t