"You must go and ask Mr. Gillet," the old lady said; "he keeps
the keys of the stores. See, over in that cottage near the tank,
and speak nicely, children, please."

"Such a gentleman," she said in a low tone to Esther, "so clever,
so polished, if only he did not drink so."

Meg and Judy went, with Baby hurrying after them as fast as her
short legs would allow.

"Come in," a voice said, when they knocked. Meg hesitated
nervously, and a man opened the door. Such a great, gaunt man,
with restless, unhappy eyes, a brown, wide brow, and neatly
trimmed beard.

Judy stated that Mrs. Hassal had sent them for the keys, if he had
no objection.

He asked them to come in and sit down while he looked for them.

Meg was surprised at the room, as her blue eyes plainly showed, for
she had only heard him spoken of as the store-keeper. There were
bookshelves, on which she saw Shakespeare and Browning and Shelley
and Rossetti and Tennyson, William Morris, and many others she had
never seen before. There were neatly framed photographs and engravings
of English and Continental scenery on the walls. There was a little
chased silver vase on a bracket, and some of the flowers from the
passion vines in it. The table with the remains of breakfast on
it was as nice on a small scale as the one she had just left in
the big cottage.