A few minutes later the children stood hand in hand before the new shop
in the Market Square, and as they did so they suddenly discovered that
their wounded hearts were well again, just as you find that the tooth
stops aching at the moment you reach the dentist's doorstep. They might
even then have run home again, had not Bertram, feeling a little
doubtful of the cure and more than a little inquisitive, peeped into the
shop.
'Come in, Bertram,' said a blithe voice, 'I've been expecting you all
the morning'; and before he and his companions knew where they were the
door was shut, the four children were inside it, each in a comfortable
chair, and in front of them was absolutely the pleasantest little old
man they had ever seen.
He had a smooth, ruddy face, and white hair, and large round spectacles
behind which his eyes danced and sparkled, and a comical kindly mouth,
and his clothes were of bright colours that merged into each other as
easily as those of the rainbow and were as certain a sign that the sun
was shining somewhere. Moreover there was in his appearance a vague but
unmistakable likeness to the one person of all persons whom Bertram
loved best, and to the one whom Beryl loved best, and to the one whom
little Aline loved best, and to the one whom Bobus loved best. Yes, it
was very strange, but although all these people were totally different
there was something about the little old man that bore resemblance to
each of them.