own. The cellar of the Haunted Bookshop was, to Bock, a fascinating place, illuminated by a warm glow from the furnace, and piled high with split packing-cases which Roger used as kindling. From below came the rasp of a shovel among coal, and the clear, musical slither as the lumps were thrown from the iron scoop onto the fire. Just then the bell rang in the shop.
"Let me go," said Titania, jumping up.
"Can't I?" said Aubrey.
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Mifflin, laying down her knitting. "Neither of you knows anything about the stock. Sit down and be comfortable. I'll be right back."
Aubrey and Titania looked at each other with a touch of embarrassment.
"Your father sent you his—his kind regards," said Aubrey. That was not what he had intended to say, but somehow he could not utter the word. "He said not to read all the books at once."
Titania laughed. "How funny that you should run into him just when you were coming here. He's a duck, isn't he?"
"Well, you see I only know him in a business way, but he certainly is a corker. He believes in advertising, too."
"Are you crazy about books?"
"Why, I never really had very much to do with
