been the Devil himself who sat behind her there, for from that very
time Rebecca Boozer has been unable to remove that hat, neither by
pushing, pulling, prying, steaming, cutting, tearing, nor by any
method howsomever! The Devil it was! The Devil it must have been!"

Master Cilley, exhausted by his recital, fell back in his chair, with
just strength enough left to replenish his pewter mug from the jug of
ale. Then, refreshed, he set the mug down, wiped his lips, and cocked
an eye at Chris who sat staring at him open-mouthed.

"Try it yourself," he suggested wagging his head. "I have. You'll not
be able to heave it off, that I promise you. That hat is there for
good and all. Mistress Boozer will doubtless be buried in that
bonnet." He cocked his head the other way. "And what do you think of
_that_?" Ned Cilley enquired.

After a long and thoughtful pause Chris found his voice.

"Master Cilley," he said respectfully, "Does she--does she _sleep_ in
it?" he asked.

The picture of the elephantine Becky Boozer with a counter-pane under
her chin and the hat with twenty-four red roses and twelve waving
black plumes rising above the pillow took hold of the sailor's fancy.
He tipped back in his chair and laughed till he cried, and as he was
coughing and spluttering, Mistress Boozer herself came rustling out of
the passageway and across the kitchen to the table.

"Be off with you, boy!" she cried. "You and Cilley--you're two of a
kind, that is plain to be seen!"

She looked from one to the other and Chris decided that it was a good
thing for him that Becky likened him to the object of her doting,
Master Cilley.

"Get along with you!" she cried again, pulling Chris up out of his
chair by his coat collar. "You are wanted by the master in his study,
so look sharp! It's down the passage and to your right," Becky said,
"and knock before you go in!"

Chris started off, but in the dusk of the passage he looked back in
time to see Becky Boozer lost in tittering giggles and wild blushes as
Master Cilley, reaching up as high as his arm would go, chucked her
under the chin.

CHAPTER 6

Chris stood for a moment before the closed door of Mr. Wicker's study.
His head was full of the story of Becky Boozer's hat or he might have
glimpsed the room beside him--for the passage stopped at this point.
Beyond the passage lay the dimly glimmering shop with its bow window
at the far end, and the door to the street beside it. He mi