longed for that pleasant house where he was the young
master, and was not lame any more. But in his soul he was glad, because
the soul is greater than the heart, and knows greater things. And now
Dickie loved Beale more than ever, because for him he had sacrificed his
dream. So he had gained something. Because loving people is the best
thing in the world--better even than being loved. Just think this out,
will you, and see if I am not right.

There were herrings for tea. And in the hard bed, with his clothes and
his boots under the pillows, Dickie slept soundly.

But he did not dream.

Yet when he woke in the morning, remembering many things, he said to
himself--

"Is this the dream? Or was the other the dream?"

And it seemed a foolish question--with the feel of the coarse sheets
and the smell of the close room, and Mr. Beale's voice saying, "Rouse
up, nipper, there's sossingers for breakfast."

CHAPTER V

"TO GET YOUR OWN LIVING"

"NO," said Mr. Beale, "we ain't a-goin' to crack no more cribs. It's
low--that's what it is. I quite grant you it's low. So I s'pose we'll
'ave to take the road again."

Dickie and he were sitting in the sunshine on a sloping field. They had
been sitting there all the morning, and Dickie had told Mr. Beale all
his earthly adventures from the moment the redheaded man had lifted him
up to the window of Talbot Court to the time when he had come in by the
open door of the common lodging-house.

"What a nipper it is, though!" said Mr. Beale regretfully. "For the
burgling, I mean--sharp--clever--no one to touch him. But I don't cotton
to it myself," he added quickly, "not the burgling, I don't. You're
always liable to get yourself into trouble over it, one way or the
other--that's the worst of it. I don't know how it is," he ended
pensively, "but somehow it _always_ leads to trouble."

Dickie picked up seven straws from among the stubble and idly plaited
them together; the nurse had taught him this in the dream when he was
still weak from the fever.

"That's very flash, that what you're doing," said Beale; "who learned
you that?"

"I learned it in a dream," said Dickie slowly. "I dreamed I 'ad a
fever--and--I'll tell you if you like: it's a good yarn--good as Here
Ward, very near."

Beale lay back on the dry stubble, his pipe between his teeth.

"Fire away," he said, and Dickie fired away.

When the long tale ended, the sun was beginning to go down towards its
bed in