d his hand into
his trousers pockets. "He brought a wife and five kids from the country
with him--thinkin' to better hisself in London. Ha! a sweet little town
for a cove as is 'ard up to better hisself in--ho yes, certingly!"
remarked the precocious boy in a tone of profound sarcasm.

"Well," he continued, "Dick Wilkin came to better hisself an' he set
about it by rentin' a single room in Cherubs Court--a fine saloobrious
spot, as you know, not far from the Tower. He 'ad a few bobs when he
came, and bought a few sticks o' furniture, but I don't need for to tell
_you_, Stumpy, that the most o' that soon went up the spout, and the
Wilkins was redooced to beggary--waried off an' on with an odd job at
the docks. It was when they first comed to town that I was down wi'
that fever, or 'flenzy, or somethink o' that sort. The streets bein' my
usual 'abitation, I 'ad no place in partikler to go to, an' by good
luck, when I gave in, I lay down at the Wilkins' door. O! but I _was_
bad--that bad that it seemed as if I should be cleared out o' my mortal
carcase entirely--"

"Mulligrumps?" inquired his sympathetic friend.

"No, no. Nothin' o' that sort, but a kind of hot all-overishness, wi'
pains that--but you can't understand it, Stumpy, if you've never 'ad
it."

"Then I don't want to understand it. But what has all this to do wi'
your dream?"

"Everythink to do with it, 'cause it was about them I was dreamin'. As
I was sayin', I fell down at their door, an' they took me in, and Mrs
Wilkin nussed me for weeks till I got better. Oh, she's a rare nuss is
Mrs Wilkin. An' when I began to get better the kids all took to me. I
don't know when I would have left them, but when times became bad, an'
Dick couldn't git work, and Mrs Wilkin and the kids began to grow thin,
I thought it was time for me to look out for myself, an' not remain a
burden on 'em no longer. I know'd they wouldn't let me away without a
rumpus, so I just gave 'em the slip, and that's 'ow I came to be on the
streets again, an' fell in wi' you, Stumpy."

"'Ave you never seen 'em since?"

"Never."

"You ungrateful wagibone!"

"What was the use o' my goin' to see 'em w'en I 'ad nothin' to give
'em?" returned Owlet in an apologetic tone.

"You might 'ave given 'em the benefit of your adwice if you 'ad nothin'
else. But what did you dream about 'em?"

"I dreamt that they was all starvin'--which ain't unlikely to be true--
an' I was so cut up abou