She saw her opportunity.  “Please,” she began, “I’d like to buy six.”  She counted on her fingers.  “I’ll have a French tongue, a German tongue, a Greek tongue, a Latin tongue, and—­later, though, if you don’t happen to have ’em on hand—­a Spanish and an Italian.”  Then she heaved a sigh of relief.  “I’m glad I saw these,” she added.  “They’ll save me a lot of work.  And they’ve helped me about a def’nition.  I looked for ‘lashing’ in my big dictionary.  And it said ‘to whip.’  But I couldn’t see how anybody could whip anybody else with a tongue.  Now, though—­”

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces nodded.  “Just wait till you see the King’s English,” he bragged.

“The King’s English?  Will I see him?”

“Likely to,” he answered, selecting an eye.  He had all his eyes about him in a circle, each looking as natural as life.  There were blue eyes and brown eyes, hazel eyes and—­

“Ah!” she exclaimed suddenly.  “I remember!  It was you who gave the Policeman a black eye!”

“One fine black eye,” he answered, chuckling as he poked about in a pile of noses and selected a large-sized one.  “Yes!  Yes!  And recently I made a lovely blue pair for a bad-tempered child who’d cried her own eyes out.”

She assented.  She had heard of just such a case.  “Once I saw some eyes in a shop-window,” she confided.  “It was a shop where you could buy spectacles.”

He wagged his beard proudly.  “I made every one of ’em!” he boasted.  “Oh, yes, indeed.”  And polished away at the tip of the large nose.

She considered for a moment.  “I’m glad I know,” she said gravely.  “I wanted to, awful much.”

After that she studied the bill-board for a time.  And presently discovered that a second supply of eyes was displayed there, being set in it as jewels are set in brooches!

She pointed.  “What kind are those?”

He looked surprised at the question.  “The bill-board is the rear wall of my shop,” said he.  “And those eyes are wall-eyes.”

She flushed with pleasure.  “That’s exactly what I thought!” she declared.

She began to walk up and down, one hand in the patch-pocket—­to make sure it was really there.  For this was all too good to be true.  Here, in this Land so new to her, and so wonderful, were things about which she had pondered, and puzzled, and asked questions—­the tongues, for instance, and the lime-lights, and the soda-water.  How simply and naturally each was now explained!—­explained as she herself had imagined each would be.  She felt a sudden pride in herself.  So far had anything been really unexpected?  As she went back to pause in front of the little old gentleman, it was with a delightful sense of understanding.  Oh, this was one of her pretend-games, gloriously come true!

Now she felt a very flood of questions surge to her lips.  She pointed to a deep yellow bowl set on the table beside him.  “Would you mind telling me what that is?” she asked.