ars. The double fans of
minute wrinkles breaking from eye corner to temple and joining with
those over the cheekbones were drawn into the horizontal lines across
the domed forehead. Little tufts of white fuzz above the ears were all
that remained of the antiquarian's hair, but what drew and held
Chris's gaze were the old man's eyes.

Mr. Wicker's eyes were not those of an old man at all. They had the
vigor of a man in the prime of life, and their presence in that
puckered face of age which confronted Chris was horribly
disconcerting. Chris blinked and looked again. Yes, they were still
there. Eyes so deeply brown they might well have been black, but
clear, sparkling, and with a decided glint of humor and mischief.
While the boy had been too frightened to move at the sight of Mr.
Wicker's ancient cheeks, pinched nose, and hairless head, he was
encouraged by the friendly eyes. Chris could not help but like those
eyes, even though it was hard to believe they belonged to the man
before him.

As though from a great distance Mr. Wicker's voice came to his ears,
and this too, Chris found difficult to credit. There, not four feet in
front of him was the old shopkeeper, and yet the high thin voice might
have come from anywhere else--the rafters, the room beyond the lighted
door; anywhere.

"Well, my boy? You wanted something?"

Chris swallowed and his voice came back to him. "Yes sir," he said. "I
saw your sign, and I know a boy who needs the job." He looked at Mr.
Wicker as though he were unable to look elsewhere. "He's a schoolmate
of mine. Jakey Harris, his name is, and he really needs the job. I
wondered--" Mr. Wicker's eyes, laughing at him just a little, confused
Chris and he began to stammer.

"I--I just wondered if the place was still open."

Mr. Wicker studied Chris for a moment or two before he replied. What
he saw was a fresh-cheeked lad tall for thirteen, sturdy, with
sincerity and good humor in his face, and something sensitive and
appealing about his eyes. His chin showed obstinacy and tenacity; his
nose would shape itself well as he grew older. Unruly tawny hair was
blown and ruffled in every direction and his hands, even young as he
was, showed ability and strength.

"Hm-mm," said Mr. Wicker, and his remote smile broadened while his
eyes sparkled with the warmth of a fire on a winter's night. "Hm-mm.
Yes. The job is still open, young man, but while you're here, why not
apply for it yourself?"

Chris,