Some old lady told the old man it 'ud bring us luck. So long,
old chap."

Dickie remembered every word of that speech, and he kept the treasure.
There had been another thing with it, tied on with string. But Aunt Maud
had found that, and taken it away "to take care of," and he had never
seen it again. It was brassy, with a white stone and some sort of
pattern on it. He had the treasure, and he had not the least idea what
it was, with its bells that jangled such pretty music, and its white
spike so hard and smooth. He did not know--but I know. It was a
rattle--a baby's old-fashioned rattle--or, if you would rather call it
that, a "coral and bells."

"And we shall 'ave the fairest flowers of hill and dale," said Dickie,
whispering comfortably in his dirty sheets, "and greensward. Oh! Tinkler
dear, 'twill indeed be a fair scene. The gayest colors of the rainbow
amid the Ague Able green of fresh leaves. I do love the Man Next Door.
He has indeed a 'art of gold."

That was how Dickie talked to his friend Tinkler. You know how he talked
to his aunt and the Man Next Door. I wonder whether you know that most
children can speak at least two languages, even if they have never had a
foreign nurse or been to foreign climes--or whether you think that you
are the only child who can do this.

Believe me, you are not. Parents and guardians would be surprised to
learn that dear little Charlie has a language quite different from the
one he uses to them--a language in which he talks to the cook and the
housemaid. And yet another language--spoken with the real accent too--in
which he converses with the boot-boy and the grooms.

Dickie, however, had learned his second language from books. The teacher
at his school had given him six--"Children of the New Forest," "Quentin
Durward," "Hereward the Wake," and three others--all paper-backed. They
made a new world for Dickie. And since the people in books talked in
this nice, if odd, way, he saw no reason why he should not--to a friend
whom he could trust.

I hope you're not getting bored with all this.

You see, I must tell you a little about the kind of boy Dickie was and
the kind of way he lived, or you won't understand his adventures. And he
had adventures--no end of adventures--as you will see presently.

Dickie woke, gay as the spring sun that was trying to look in at him
through his grimy windows.

"Perhaps he'll do some more to the garden to-day!" he said, and got up
very quic