arket-hall to distribute his goods. On the way up the
broad and pleasant High Street Henry was excited, for there, to his joy,
he beheld the name of Ephraim Griggs upon a window well stocked with
books--smaller, perhaps, and dustier than he had pictured it in his own
mind.

Mrs. Filbert, the landlady with whom Edward John had arranged for
Henry's board and lodging, was a widow of more than middle age, who had
brought up a considerable family, most of whom were now "doing for
themselves." In summertime she often let her best rooms to visitors, but
nothing rejoiced her more than the prospect of a permanent lodger. She
was fortunate already in having one who came under that description, and
whose acquaintance we may make in due time.

Mrs. Filbert was a motherly soul, and set Henry at his ease at once when
she took him to the little bedroom he was to share with one of her sons,
a lad about his own age. Nor would she allow him to fare forth into the
town until he had disposed of some dinner she had kept for him,
suspecting that his means did not run to the luxury of a meal at one of
the country inns on the way from Hampton.

When Henry had freed himself from the motherly attentions of Mrs.
Filbert, and again found himself in the High Street, it was late
afternoon. With a beating heart he walked direct to the shop of Mr.
Griggs, but as his engagement commenced the next morning, he did not
intend to present himself to his future employer that afternoon.

His purpose was merely a preliminary inspection of the place, for on his
two previous visits to Stratford the establishment which had suddenly
become his centre of interest had not been noticed by him.

The window was dustier than he had supposed from his sight of it while
passing with the carrier, and many of the books that were offered for
sale were disappointingly commonplace. As for the collection in the
window-box, labelled in crude blue letters, "All in this row 2_d._
each," he was amazed that Mr. Griggs should exhibit them. For the most
part they were old school-books, and he remembered, with a sudden sense
of wealth unreckoned, that he had quite a number at home as good as
these. He was not aware that only a summer ago a sharp visitor had
picked up from this bundle a volume which he sold in London for L9.

Timidly did Henry peep in at the doorway, which was narrower than he had
expected, and a trifle shabby so far as painting was concerned.

So much as he could