7
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."
"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 neighbourhood. In fact
some people wish they had gone further.
