A father and son enter a mysterious shop filled with magic items. The shopkeeper demonstrates wondrous magic, blurring reality and illusion. As the son delights in the marvels, the father grows uneasy. Eventually, they leave, but the shop disappears, leaving them questioning reality. A cute little magical story.
“Then, with a start, I discovered something moving about in my hat – something soft and jumpy.
I whipped it off, and a ruffled pigeon – no doubt a confederate – dropped out and ran on the
counter, and went, I fancy, into a cardboard box behind the papier-mâché tiger.
“Tut, tut!” said the shopman, dexterously relieving, me of my headdress; “careless bird, and –
as I live – nesting!”
He shook my hat, and shook out into his extended hand, two or three eggs, a large marble, a
watch, about half a dozen of the inevitable glass balls, and then crumpled, crinkled paper, more
and more and more, talking all the time of the way in which people neglect to brush their hats
inside as well as out – politely, of course, but with a certain personal application. “All sorts of
things accumulate, sir… Not you, of course, in particular… Nearly every customer… Astonishing
what they carry about with them… ” The crumpled paper rose and billowed on the counter
more and more and more, until he was nearly hidden from us, until he was altogether hidden,
and still his voice went on and on. “We none of us know what the fair semblance of a human
being may conceal, Sir. Are we all then no better than brushed exteriors, whited sepulchres -“