candles?" he asked as he entered the
shop.

"How many do you want?"

"A dozen."

"Can't let you have a dozen. You can have two boxes--four in a
box--eight. Six-pence a box."

"Got any holders?"

"Holders? Don't ask. Haven't seen one this year."

"Got any toffee--?"

"Cough-drops--two-pence an ounce--nothing else left."

"Give me four ounces."

He watched her weighing them in the little brass scales.

"You've not got much of a Christmas show," he said.

"Don't talk about Christmas, as far as sweets is concerned. They ought
to have allowed us six times the quantity--there's plenty of sugar, why
didn't they? We s'll have to enjoy ourselves with what we've got. We
mean to, anyhow."

"Ay," he said.

"Time we had a bit of enjoyment, THIS Christmas. They ought to have made
things more plentiful."

"Yes," he said, stuffing his package in his pocket.

CHAPTER II. ROYAL OAK

The war had killed the little market of the town. As he passed the
market place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two
miserable stalls. But people crowded just the same. There was a loud
sound of voices, men's voices. Men pressed round the doorways of the
public-houses.

But he was going to a pub out of town. He descended the dark hill. A
street-lamp here and there shed parsimonious light. In the bottoms,
under the trees, it was very dark. But a lamp glimmered in front of
the "Royal Oak." This was a low white house sunk three steps below the
highway. It was darkened, but sounded crowded.

Opening the door, Sisson found himself in the stone passage. Old Bob,
carrying three cans, stopped to see who had entered--then went on
into the public bar on the left. The bar itself was a sort of
little window-sill on the right: the pub was a small one. In this
window-opening stood the landlady, drawing and serving to her husband.
Behind the bar was a tiny parlour or den, the landlady's preserve.

"Oh, it's you," she said, bobbing down to look at the newcomer. None
entered her bar-parlour unless invited.

"Come in," said the landlady. There was a peculiar intonation in her
complacent voice, which showed she had been expecting him, a little
irritably.

He went across into her bar-parlour. It would not hold more than eight
or ten people, all told--just the benches along the walls, the fire
between--and two little round tables.

"I began to think you weren't coming," said the landlady, bringing him a
whiskey.

She was a