He glanced left and right, hesitated, and turned towards Great Homer Street. As soon as he reached the brightly lit stalls he headed for one where he knew from past experience that amongst the second-hand clothing small toys could sometimes be found. He was just examining a little dog with a torn ear when the stallholder addressed him. ‘Hello there, young Jimmy! Lookin’ for a gift for that pretty little sister of yourn?’ Harry Theaker, who Jimmy’s mother had always maintained paid a fair price for anything she brought in, and had frequently employed Jimmy to help on the stall, shivered expressively. ‘Why the devil they calls this a green Christmas I’ll never bleedin’ well know. Grey, yes, I’d go along wi’ that. Ah well, since you’re here you can gi’ me a hand to get me goods stowed away. Are you on? Trade’s terrible, ’cos no one wants to be out in weather like this, so I’m for home.’ He smacked his lips. ‘My old woman come past ten or twenty minutes ago and said she’d have the kettle a-boilin’ and the muffins on the toastin’ fork, so I don’t mean to linger.’

Jimmy beamed at his old friend. ‘Of course I’ll help you. I meant to cut some holly, but I’ve been to the wash house for Aunt Huxtable and it’s too late now. Mebbe I’ll do it tomorrer instead. How much is this little dog? It’s only got half an ear, but you know our Mo, she’ll just love it.’

He held out the little dog as he spoke and Harry Theaker took it from him, cast a look round the stall and sighed deeply. ‘A threepenny joe,’ he said decisively. ‘And if you help me to get packed up before it’s full dark you can have a bag of broken biscuits too; I were goin’ to have ’em for my tea but now it’ll be toasted muffins instead so you might as well eat them up for me. Is that fair?’

‘It’s real good of you, Mr Theaker,’ Jimmy said gratefully, handing over the coins Mrs McTavish had given him and tucking the little dog and the biscuits into the bosom of his ragged shirt. He began to pack the items nearest him into a large tea chest. ‘And don’t you worry. I reckon tomorrow is bound to be better and you’ll sell the rest of your stock.’

Harry Theaker laughed. ‘You’re a cheery little beggar,’ he said jovially. ‘And ain’t you lucky young Mo weren’t with you to see you buy that dog? Come to think of it, where is she?’

Jimmy thought that Mo was unlikely to have gone back into No. 4, because she was still in Aunt Huxtable’s bad books. Some days before, Mrs Huxtable had been chatting to one of the neighbours as Mo descended the front steps and the woman had smiled at the small girl and said, ‘Ain’t you the lucky one? Your aunt’s put money down to buy a nice fat chicken for your Christmas dinner. Ain’t she a queen, Mo?’