“He spat upon it, an’ rubbed it on his trousers,” answered ’Biades with a glibness that astonished himself, ‘peeking’ between his fingers to make sure that they really held the prize.  Inspiration took the child, once started, and he lied as one lifted far above earth.  “Mr Nanjivell said as it might help me to forget Father’s bein’ away at the War.  Mr Nanjivell said as I couldn’ learn too early to lay by against a rainy day, and I was to take it to Missis Pengelly’s and if it took the form of trousers he didn’ mind.  Mother wanted me to put it in the savings bank, but he wouldn’ hear of it.  He said they weren’t to be trusted any longer—­not savings banks.  He said—­”

“But where did he get it?”

’Biades blinked, and set his face hardily.  He had the haziest notions of how money was acquired.  But from infancy he had perforce attended chapel.

“He took up a collection.”

“What?”

“He took up a collection, Miss:  the same as Mr Pamphlett does on Sunday.  Back-along, when he was at sea—­”

“Alcibiades,” said Miss Oliver on a sudden impulse, feeling for her purse.  “What would you say if I gave you two pennies for your bright new one?  Two pennies will buy twice as much as one, you know.”

“O’ course I know that,” said ’Biades cunningly.  “But what for?”

“Because you have told me such a pretty story.”

’Biades hesitated.  He had been driven—­in self-defence, to be sure—­ into saying things at the bare thought of which he felt a premonitory tingling in the rearward part of his person.  But somehow the feel of the coin in his hand seemed to enfranchise him.  He had at once a sense of manly solidity, and of having been floated off into a giddy atmosphere in which nothing succeeded like success and the law of gravity had lost all spanking weight.  He backed towards Mrs Pengelly’s shop door, greedy, suspicious, irresolute.

Miss Oliver produced two copper coins, and laid them in his palm.  As the exchange was made he backed upon Mrs Pengelly’s shop door, and the impact set a bell clanging.  The sense of it shot up his spine of a sudden, and at each stroke of the clapper he felt he had sold his soul to the devil.  But Miss Oliver stood in front of him, with a smile on her face that seemed to waver the more she fixed it:  and at this moment the voice of Mrs Pengelly—­a deep contralto—­called—­

“Come in!”

Some women are comfortable, others uncomfortable.  In the language of Polpier, “there be bitter and there be bowerly.”  Mrs Pengelly was a bowerly woman, and traded in lollipops.  Miss Oliver—­

Anyhow, the child ’Biades turned and took refuge in the shop, hurling back the door-flap and its clanging bell.

This left Miss Oliver without, in the awkwardest of situations:  since she had a conscience as well as curiosity.  In her palm lay a guinea-piece:  which meant that (at the very least, or the current rate of exchange) she had swindled a child out of twenty shillings and tenpence.  This would never do, of course. . . .  Yet she could not very well follow in at this moment and explain to Mrs Pengelly.