the driveway and out the front gate.
Her school wasn't very far. She only had to walk to the top of the rise at the end of the next block, then turn the corner and there she was. And by the time she'd arrived at the schoolyard the dream would be forgotten.
Of a morning, not wanting to be late, Tilly would keep to their side of the street, but sometimes, after school, when she didn’t have to hurry home, she would turn the corner to the street where she lived and then cross to the other side.
This would take her past a special shop with a window she liked to look in. Tilly knew from memory exactly what was there and could see straight away if anything new had been added.
But this was no ordinary shop – as the sign above the window proclaimed. “GUESSA DACOSTA’S QUALITY SECOND HAND AND ANTIQUES EMPORIUM”, it stated rather grandly. “WE BUY AND SELL”.
Even to Tilly it was plain that things were not exactly as the sign would have her believe, for the window contained little that one could call "quality" and nothing one might ever imagine was "antique". She just found the window interesting to look in because of the different things that were there.
China plates and china jugs, a half a dozen glass vases and some slightly rusty golf clubs. Old brown pictures in old brown frames, a small electric fan and a pair of fancy candle holders. ...And books and badges and bottles and boots and basketballs and bicycle-bells and boxes of brackets with big brass bolts and ... and hundreds of other things, all stacked on top of each other so higgledy-piggledy that some of the things were almost hidden from sight.
Tilly liked to imagine the story each of the items might have told had she been able to ask. Where they had come from? How did they get to be in the window? And, where might they have gone when they were sold?
As the sign declared, the shop’s owner was a man named Guessa DaCosta. He was a stout little fellow who was not much taller than Tilly. And it always seemed as if he were out of breath.
Sometimes when the shop wasn’t busy he’d come to the door to say hello. Often he would show Tilly something new that had been put in the window.
As it happened, Tilly and her parents knew Mr DaCosta quite well, because he lived in the house next door. In fact, from her bedroom window Tilly could see right into Mr DaCosta’s back yard.
This was just as cluttered as his shop, except that many of the items he kept there were bigger. There were bricks and boards and bath tubs. There was broken furniture and old bicycles and boxes of tractor parts and a big old bus. And there were bags of bottles and bales and bales of old newspaper.
There were lots of other things there, too, many of which also started with "B". It was nearly as interesting as his shop.
Now one particular day, as Tilly set off home from school, she decided to go by the shop again to check in the window. She'd not been that way for a while and wanted to see if anything new had been added.
A quick look told her that nothing had changed so she turned and continued walking. But she’d only gone a few steps when she stopped. Something there was different.
Back she went for a second look … and yet everything seemed the same. She could go in and ask Mr DaCosta, she thought, but she knew he'd been busy lately and was reluctant to disturb him. And it didn't matter anyway, really; there was nothing new in the window. But, just to be sure, she checked the untidy clutter again.
Nothing. Of that she was certain.
And then she saw it!
In a dark little space between a couple of old books – behind a bottle and a green china frog – she could just make out the shape of a small figurine. It may have been a ballerina, except that Tilly could see what appeared to be wings. Could it be an angel? she wondered. Now she would have to disturb Mr DaCosta.
And so, itching with curiosity, Tilly went into the shop.
Mr DaCosta was working at an old computer in his so-called office, a cluttered little room behind the shop's front window.
“Hello Tilly,” he said when he saw who it was. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you for a while. I’ve been terribly busy trying to catch up with all my office work. ...It’s awfully tedious, you know. Now then, how can I help?”
When Tilly asked about the little figurine in the window Mr DaCosta was at a complete loss. He had no recollection of it whatever.
This worried Mr DaCosta, because he knew exactly what was in the window. He knew about everything in his shop, too. And he knew every single thing that was in his back yard. He didn’t say anything about this to Tilly, of course. Instead they went outside so that Tilly could point out the figurine to him.
“Well!” said Mr DaCosta when he saw it. “I’m not sure that I …”
And, try as he might, he could not remember it at all.
He couldn’t remember where it might have come from. He didn’t remember how much it might have cost. He had no idea how long it might have been there. He couldn’t even remember having seen it before.
Back into the shop he went, to the back door of the window. And then, with Tilly outside giving directions, Mr DaCosta retrieved the little figurine for their closer inspection. They were quite surprised to find it was a little music box, though it was certainly not in very good condition.
The case was made of metal lacework, a delicate filigree over a more solid metal box. It was somewhat battered, however, and quite shabby, probably from being exposed to moisture for a long time. The lid was damaged on one side and it was stuck in the open position.
The standing figurine was a little ballerina. She was dressed like a fairy queen, with wings and a tiny tiara. But the end of one wing was partly broken and the other was bent. Her wand was bent as well. Nor could she turn, as she was stuck fast.
Her dress looked awful. It didn’t fit properly and was stained and grubby. She really did look sad and forlorn.
Tilly felt sorry for the little figurine. Right there she decided to buy her, so she asked Mr DaCosta how much the music box would cost.
Now … for Mr DaCosta this was a problem – though it wasn’t his not remembering the price. The problem was that it looked very old. It also looked as if it had been made by hand. Why, he thought, it might even be a valuable antique!
And so Mr DaCosta explained to Tilly that he couldn’t remember its price – which was perfectly true. “Come back after school tomorrow, Tilly,” he said. “I’ll be able to tell you then.
After Tilly had gone Mr DaCosta shut the shop and drove across to the other side of the city. He wanted to show the music box to a man he knew, a collector who was an expert on antique music boxes.
“...Hmmm,” said the expert after looking over it carefully. “I’d say it comes from Germany and was made somewhere around 1880.”
“Why,” said Mr DaCosta, “that’s over a hundred years ago. It’s a great deal older than I thought.”
“Yes,” replied the expert, “and it’s the work of a very fine craftsman. Look at the quality of this lacework. I’m certain it would have been gilded, too.”
“...Finished with a coating of gold...” whispered Mr DaCosta, his heart beating a little faster.
“Indeed. ––But look at it now. It looks as though it has been lying in a field for fifty years … and been run over by a plough.”
The expert looked more closely. “…Something seems to have been engraved on the lid,” he muttered, half to himself. “It’s possibly the maker’s name, but that is a most unusual place to have put it. And anyway, whatever it was, it’s too corroded to read now.”
He put the music box back on his desk and looked up at Mr DaCosta. “I must tell you my friend; this is hopeless. It is too far gone to restore … too damaged even to be repaired.
“Why don’t you put it in your window with a sign saying, “Rare antique German music box – $10.00 as is”. Or you could take it home, perhaps, and give it to your grandchildren to pull apart. However you look at it, the thing is almost worthless.
“Now as it happens
– if you are looking for an antique music box – I can let you have...”
“No thanks,” Mr DaCosta said quickly. “One music box at a time is enough for me.”
The next afternoon when school came out Tilly hurried straight to Mr DaCosta’s shop, and the first thing she saw on looking in the window was the music box and its little figurine, right in front. Her wings had been straightened and roughly glued, and her wand now pointed into the air. Resting against the box was a small card. On it was written, “Rare Antique German Music Box – a restorer's treasure. As found, $20.00”.
Tilly stared at the card in disbelief and, without thinking, began reading the price out loud. “Twenty dollars,” she kept saying to herself, “...Twenty dollars!”
“Yes,” said Mr DaCosta, who had come to the door without Tilly noticing, “It’s very old and quite rare. It comes from Germany, you know, and was made in 1880. I’m being a fool to myself by letting it go so cheaply.”
Slowly Tilly turned away and set off to walk the rest of the way home, her heart heavy with disappointment. Twenty dollars was so much … and so much more than she had ever expected it to be. Yet by the time she reached her front gate she knew what had to be done.
She would save every cent she could, she’d decided, until she had earned enough to buy the sad little ballerina and the music box in which she stood.
And so, in the days after that, Tilly took on as many extra jobs around the house and garden as