I had not frightened the little ladies away from the High Street, it
seemed. I saw them again two days later. They had been out as usual,
and some trifling mischance having happened to the Spanish saddle,
they called at Mr. Buckle's door for repairs. I was in the shop, and
could see the two little maidens as they sat hanging over their strap,
with a doll dressed very much like themselves between them. I crept
nearer to the door, where the quick grey eyes of the younger one
caught sight of me, and I heard her say in her peculiarly trenchant
tones--
"Why, there's that Boy again!"
I slipped a little to one side, and took up a tool and a bit of
leather with a pretence of working, hoping to be out of sight, and
yet to be able to look at the little white-beavered fairy, for whom my
fancy was in no way abated. But her keen-eyed sister saw me still, and
her next remark rang out with uncompromising distinctness--
"He's in the shop still. He's working. He must be a shop-boy!"
I dropped the tools, and rushed away to my sitting-room. My
mortification was complete, and it was of a kind that Rubens could not
understand. Fortunately for me, he simply went with my humour, without
being particular as to the reason of it, like the tenderest of women.
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