“There’s a funny stall,” said Nancy suddenly, “nothing but rubbishing old books.”
“Let’s go and look at it,” said Pennie.
They were very shabby old books indeed. Some of them with cracked bindings and the letters on the backs rubbed off; others with no binding at all, in soiled paper covers. There were piles and piles of them, not neatly arranged, but tossed about anyhow, and behind the stall stood an old man with a withered face and a pointed chin—a sort of wizard old man, Pennie thought. Nancy seemed struck with his appearance too.
“He’s just like pantaloon, isn’t he?” she said in a loud whisper as they stopped in front of the stall.
The old man peered sharply at the two little girls over the open book he held in his hand.
“What do you want, Missie?” he asked in a cracked voice.
“We don’t want anything, thank you,” said Pennie politely. “What a lot of old books you have!”
“Ah! they’re too old for such as you,” said the old man, glancing at the watchful form of Nurse in the background; “but I’ve got a pretty one somewheres that’d just suit you.”
“Come along, do, Miss Pennie,” said Nurse entreatingly, “there’s nothing like old books for fevers.”