“Will you name it, ma’am?” said the shop keeper smiling gently, but with a spark of triumph in his eye, as if he had been waiting for that moment.
“It’s that little box shaped like a Swiss chalet with all the carving and the little front door with ivory knobs,—how much is that?”
The old man took it out with a trembling hand and placed it on the show case.
“That’s a little sandalwood jewel box,” he said. “It smells good and is dainty to look at and is as pretty inside as out.”
He snapped a spring and the roof of the chalet lifted, disclosing its interior of wadded pale blue satin.
Nancy clasped her hands in admiration.
“I haven’t any jewels except a gold bead necklace and a ring and a bracelet and two brooches,” she said timidly, “but I hope to collect more. How much did you say it was?”
The aged collector pricked up his ears like a war horse when he hears the martial call of the trumpet.
“It’s worth a great deal of money, young lady, but I’ll let you have it for a song.”
“And how much do you call ‘a song’?”