"But I can pawn my ear-rings." I dare say you have never been in a position to notice that there is no pawn-shop on Mitten Island.

The inhabitants of model villages always have assured incomes and pose as lilies of the field.

Sarah Brown and her hostess sat down on the counter without regret to a luncheon consisting of one orange, found by the guest in her bag and divided, and two thin captain biscuits from stock.

They were both used to dissolving visions of impossible chops, both were cheerfully familiar with the feeling of light tragedy which invades you towards six o'clock P.M., if you have not been able to afford a meal since breakfast.
"Now look here," said Sarah Brown, as she plunged her pocket-knife into the orange.

"Would you mind telling me--are you a fairy, or a third-floor-back, or anything of that sort?
I won't register it, or put it on the case-paper, I promise, though if you are superhuman in any way I shall be seriously tempted." "I am a Witch," said the witch.
Now witches and wizards, as you perhaps know, are people who are born for the first time.