s. Handsomebody
says it shouldn't be above sixpence, please."

The cobbler ceased his tapping, and all the birds stopped to listen:

"Good-morning, little masters," he said, in his soft voice. "What wild
things your feet are to be sure. Try as I will, I cannot tame them. You
might as well try to keep three wild ponies shod." He undid the parcel and
turned the boot over in his hands. "Sixpence, did she say? Nay, tell her a
shilling, for the sole needs stitching as well."

"Oh, but you must keep that for another day," said Angel, "so we can come
again."

"How she tries to keep you down," said the cobbler. "How old are you now?"

I replied to this. "Angel's ten, and I'm nine, and The Seraph's six."

"Just the brave age for the woods. I wish I had my old van again, and could
take you on the road with me. You'd learn something of forest ways in no
time. Shall you wait for this?"

Wait for it? Rather. We established ourselves about him; The Seraph climbed
beside him on the bench; Angel took possession of his tools, handing them
to him as required; while I busied myself in plentifully oiling a strip of
leather. The birds chirped and pecked above our heads.

Angel asked: "Did you do much cobbling in the van, Mr. Martindale?"

"Ay, cobbling and tinkering too. The forest birds liked to hear me just the
same as those canaries. Especially the tinkering. They'd crowd about and
sing fit to burst their throats--wood-thrushes, finches, and all sorts.
Then, I used to stop at village fairs and take in a nice bit of silver. For
my missus could play the concertina, and I had a cage of lovebirds that
could tell fortunes and do tricks."

A strange voice spoke from the passage behind the shop.

"Ay. Comical tricks lovebirds do. And cruel tricks, love. I've been tricked
by 'em."

"Better lie down, Ada," said Martindale. "Or make tea. That'll quiet ye."
He rose and went to the door, closing it softly. But he had barely seated
himself again, when there came a scream from the passage.

"Look what you've did, you villain, you've shut me in the door! Oh! oh! I'm
trapped in this comical passage! Loose me quick!"

Martindale sprang to the door, where a strip of red petticoat showed that
his wife was indeed caught, and went out into the passage, speaking in a
soothing tone, and leading her away.

"I fink I'll go," whispered The Seraph.

"Don't be silly," I assured him, "the cobbler will take care she don't hurt
us."

"She's a chara