Miss Tippet in the choice of her abode.

When William Willders reached the small door of Number 6, Poorthing
Lane, and raised his hand to knock, the said door opened as if it had
been trained to admit visitors of its own accord, and Miss Matty Merryon
issued forth, followed by a bright blue-eyed girl of about twelve years
of age.

"Well, boy, was ye comin' here?" inquired Matty, as the lad stepped
aside to let them pass.

"Yes, I was. Does Miss Tippet live here?"

"She does, boy, what d'ye want with her?"

"I want to see her, young 'ooman, so you'd better cut away up an' tell
her a gen'lm'n requests a few words private conversation with her."

The little girl laughed at this speech, and Matty, addressing Willie as
a "dirty spalpeen," said he had better go with her to a shop first, and
she'd then take him back and introduce him to Miss Tippet.

"You see I can't let ye in all be yer lone, cushla; for what would the
neighbours say, you know! I'm only goin' to the toy-shop, an' won't
kape ye a minit, for Miss Emma don't take long to her bargains."

Willie might probably have demurred to this delay; but on hearing that
the blue-eyed girl wanted to make purchases, he at once agreed to the
proposal, and followed them into the toy-shop.

David Boone, who stepped out of the back-shop to serve them, was, if we
may say so, very unlike his trade. A grave, tall, long-legged,
long-nosed, raw-boned, melancholy-looking creature such as he, might
have been an undertaker, or a mute, or a sexton, or a policeman, or a
horse-guardsman, or even a lawyer; but it was the height of impropriety
to have made him a toy-shopman, and whoever did it had no notion
whatever of the fitness of things. One could not resist the idea that
his clumsy legs would certainly upset the slender wooden toys with which
the floor and counters were covered, and his fingers seemed made to
break things. The figure of Punch which hung from the ceiling appeared
inclined to hit him as he passed to and fro, and the pretty little dolls
with the sweet pink faces, and very flaxen hair and cerulean eyes were
evidently laughing at him.

Nevertheless, David Boone was a kind-hearted man, very fond of children,
and extremely unlike, in some respects, what people imagined him at
first sight to be.

"Well, Miss Ward, what can I supply you with to-day?" said he blandly.

"Please, Mr Boone, I want a slate and a piece of slate-pencil." Emma
looked up with a sweet smi