Ginger and Pickles
Once
upon
a
time
there
was
a
village
shop.
The
name
over
the
window
was
“Ginger
and
Pickles.”
It
was
a
little
small
shop
just
the
right
size
for
dolls.
Lucinda
and
Jane
Doll
Cook
always
bought
their
groceries
at
Ginger
and
Pickles.
The
counter
inside
was
a
convenient
height
for
rabbits.
Ginger
and
Pickles
sold
red
spotty
pocket
handkerchiefs
at
a
penny
three
farthings.
They
also
sold
sugar,
and
snuff
and
galoshes.
In
fact,
although
it
was
such
a
small
shop
it
sold
nearly
everything
except
a
few
things
that
you
want
in
a
hurry
like
bootlaces,
hair
pins
and
mutton
chops.
Ginger
and
Pickles
were
the
people
who
kept
the
shop.
Ginger
was
a
yellow
tomcat,
and
Pickles
was
a
terrier.
The
rabbits
were
always
a
little
bit
afraid
of
Pickles.
The
shop
was
also
patronized
by
mice
only
the
mice
were
rather
afraid
of
Ginger.
Ginger
usually
requested
Pickles
to
serve
them,
because
he
said
it
made
his
mouth
water.
“I
cannot
bear,”
said
he,
“to
see
them
going
out
at
the
door
carrying
their
little
parcels.”
“I
have
the
same
feeling
about
rats,”
replied
Pickles,
“but
it
would
never
do
to
eat
our
customers;
they
would
leave
us
and
go
to
Tabitha
Twitchit’s.”
“On
the
contrary,
they
would
go
nowhere,”
replied
Ginger
gloomily.
(Tabitha
Twitchit
kept
the
only
other
shop
in
the
village.
She
did
not
give
credit.)
But
there
is
no
money
in
what
is
called
the
“till.”
Ginger
and
Pickles
gave
unlimited
credit.
Now
the
meaning
of
“credit”
is
this
when
a
customer
buys
a
bar
of
soap,
instead
of
the
customer
pulling
out
a
purse
and
paying
for
it
she
says
she
will
pay
another
time.
And
Pickles
makes
a
low
bow
and
says,
“With
pleasure,
madam,”
and
it
is
written
down
in
a
book.
The
customers
come
again
and
again,
and
buy
quantities,
in
spite
of
being
afraid
of
Ginger
and
Pickles.
The
customers
came
in
crowds
every
day
and
bought
quantities,
especially
the
toffee
customers.
But
there
was
always
no
money;
they
never
paid
for
as
much
as
a
penny
worth
of
peppermints.
But
the
sales
were
enormous,
ten
times
as
large
as
Tabitha
Twitchit’s.
As
there
was
always
no
money,
Ginger
and
Pickles
were
obliged
to
eat
their
own
goods.
Pickles
ate
biscuits
and
Ginger
ate
a
dried
haddock.
They
ate
them
by
candle
light
after
the
shop
was
closed.
“It
is
very
uncomfortable,
I
am
afraid
I
shall
be
summoned.
I
have
tried
in
vain
to
get
a
license
upon
credit
at
the
Post
Office;”
said
Pickles.
“The
place
is
full
of
policemen.
I
met
one
as
I
was
coming
home.
“Let
us
send
in
the
bill
again
to
Samuel
Whiskers,
Ginger,
he
owes
22
9
for
bacon.”
“I
do
not
believe
that
he
intends
to
pay
at
all,”
replied
Ginger.
When
it
came
to
Jan.
1st
there
was
still
no
money,
and
Pickles
was
unable
to
buy
a
dog
license.
“It
is
very
unpleasant,
I
am
afraid
of
the
police,”
said
Pickles.
“It
is
your
own
fault
for
being
a
terrier;
I
do
not
require
a
license,
and
neither
does
Kep,
the
Collie
dog.”
“And
I
feel
sure
that
Anna
Maria
pockets
things
“Where
are
all
the
cream
crackers?”
“You
have
eaten
them
yourself.”
replied
Ginger.
Ginger
and
Pickles
retired
into
the
back
parlor.
They
did
accounts.
They
added
up
sums
and
sums,
and
sums.
“Samuel
Whiskers
has
run
up
a
bill
as
long
as
his
tail;
he
has
had
an
ounce
and
three
quarters
of
snuff
since
October.
“What
is
seven
pounds
of
butter
at
third,
and
a
stick
of
sealing
wax
and
four
matches?”
“Send
in
all
the
bills
again
to
everybody
‘with
compliments,’”
replied
Ginger.
Pickles
nearly
had
a
fit,
he
barked
and
he
barked
and
made
little
rushes.
“Bite
him,
Pickles!
Bite
him!”
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.
After
a
time
they
heard
a
noise
in
the
shop,
as
if
something
had
been
pushed
in
at
the
door.
They
came
out
of
the
back
parlor.
There
was
an
envelope
lying
on
the
counter,
and
a
policeman
writing
in
a
notebook!
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,
three
pounds
nineteen
eleven
three
quarters.”
[pounds
are
British
money,
the
19
is
schillings,
and
then
pence]
“This
is
the
last
straw,”
said
Pickles,
“let
us
close
the
shop.”
They
put
up
the
shutters,
and
left.
But
they
have
not
removed
from
the
neighborhood.
In
fact
some
people
wish
they
had
gone
further.
Ginger
is
living
in
the
warren
[game
preserve
for
rabbits].
I
do
not
know
what
occupation
he
pursues;
he
looks
stout
and
comfortable.
Pickles
is
at
present
a
game
keeper.
After
a
time
Mr.
John
Dormouse
and
his
daughter
began
to
sell
peppermints
and
candles.
But
they
did
not
keep
“self
fitting
sixes”;
and
it
takes
five
mice
to
carry
one
seven
inch
candle.
The
closing
of
the
shop
caused
great
inconvenience.
Tabitha
Twitchit
immediately
raised
the
price
of
everything
a
half
penny;
and
she
continued
to
refuse
to
give
credit.
Of
course
there
are
the
tradesmen’s
carts
the
butcher,
the
fish
man
and
Timothy
Baker.
But
a
person
cannot
live
on
“seed
wigs”
and
sponge
cake
and
butter
buns
not
even
when
the
sponge
cake
is
as
good
as
Timothy’s!
And
Miss
Dormouse
refused
to
take
back
the
ends
when
they
were
brought
back
to
her
with
complaints.
And
when
Mr.
John
Dormouse
was
complained
to,
he
stayed
in
bed,
and
would
say
nothing
but
“very
snug;”
which
is
not
the
way
to
carry
on
a
retail
business.
Besides
the
candles
which
they
sell
behave
very
strangely
in
warm
weather.
So
everybody
was
pleased
when
Sally
Henny
Penny
sent
out
a
printed
poster
to
say
that
she
was
going
to
reopen
the
shop
“Henny’s
Opening
Sale!
Grand
cooperative
Jumble!
Penny’s
penny
prices!
Come
buy,
come
try,
come
buy!”
The
poster
really
was
most
‘ticing.
There
was
a
rush
upon
the
opening
day.
The
shop
was
crammed
with
customers,
and
there
were
crowds
of
mice
upon
the
biscuit
canisters.
Sally
Henny
Penny
gets
rather
flustered
when
she
tries
to
count
out
change,
and
she
insists
on
being
paid
cash;
but
she
is
quite
harmless.
And
she
has
laid
in
a
remarkable
assortment
of
bargains.
There
is
something
to
please
everybody.
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