of those high-coloured girls who June could see at a glance was a minx.
Promising to be back in an hour, which was all that Mr. Mitchell could allow if they were to be home before the rising of the moon, June and William, feeling more romantic than ever before in their lives, set out on a pilgrimage up the High Street. It was the only street in the town which aspired to a sense of importance; the point in fact towards which all meaner streets converged. One of these it was they had now to find.
Alas, from the outset there was a grave doubt in the mind of William in the matter of his bearings. To the best of his recollection the old woman's shop was either the second or third turning up, then to the left, then across, and then to the left again into an obscure alley of which he had forgotten the name. That was like him. In June's private opinion, it was also like him, although lèse-majesté of course, to let him know it, to take her to look for a serendipity shop in a bottle of hay.
William knew neither the name of the old woman, nor the byway that had contained her, and in the course of half an hour's meandering it grew clear to the practical mind of June that she was in serious danger of having to go without her annuity. Having come so far it would be humiliating to return with a tale of total defeat; yet up till now these emotions had been held in check by the romance of the case.
Mr. Mitchell's hour was all but sped, when William stopped abruptly. Light had come. He had hit the trail.
At the corner of the lane into which for the third time they had penetrated, was an enticing little shop
