spluttered Ginger behind a sugar-
barrel, "he's only a German doll!"

The policeman went on writing
in his notebook; twice he put his
pencil in his mouth, and once he
dipped it in the treacle.


Pickles barked till he was hoarse.
But still the policeman took no
notice. He had bead eyes, and his
helmet was sewed on with stitches.


At length on his last little rush
--Pickles found that the shop was
empty. The policeman had disappeared.

But the envelope remained.


"Do you think that he has gone
to fetch a real live policeman? I
am afraid it is a summons," said
Pickles.

"No," replied Ginger, who had
opened the envelope, "it is the
rates and taxes, L 3 19 11 3/4 ."