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They went in together. Mrs. Magnet, now with God, an old woman like a
berry, always in a bonnet with green flowers, smiled and bobbed. The
colours of the toys jumbled against the dark walls were like patterns in a
carpet.
"What do you say, Miss Brandon?" said Johnny. "If I give you a toy will
you give me one?"
"Yes," said Joan, afraid a little of Mrs. Magnet's piercing black eye.
"You're not to see what I get. Turn your back a moment."
Joan turned around. As she waited she could hear the "Hie!...Hie! Woah!"
of the market-cries, the bleating of the sheep, the lowing of a cow.
"Here you are, then." She turned. He presented her with a Japanese doll,
gay in a pink cotton frock, his waist girdled with a sash of gold tissue.
"Now you turn your back," she said.
In a kind of happy desperation she seized a nigger with bold red checks, a
white jacket and crimson trousers.
Mrs. Magnet wrapped the presents up. They paid, and walked out into the
sun again.
"I'll keep that doll," said Johnny, "just as long as you keep yours."
"Good-bye," said Joan hurriedly.


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