olly sight too much," said Dickie, in gloom.

And now all Dickie's little soul was filled with one longing; all his
little brain awake to one only thought: the police were to be set on the
track of Beale, the man whom he called father; the man who had been kind
to him, had wheeled him in a perambulator for miles and miles through
enchanted country; the man who had bought him a little coat "to put on
o' nights if it was cold or wet"; the man who had shown him the
wonderful world to which he awakens who has slept in the bed with the
green curtains.

The lady's house was more beautiful than anything he had ever
imagined--yet not more beautiful than certain things that he almost
imagined that he remembered. The lady was better than beautiful, she
was dear. Her eyes were the eyes to which it is good to laugh--her arms
were the arms in which it is good to cry. The tree-dotted parkland was
to Dickie the Land of Heart's Desire.

But father--Beale--who had been kind, whom Dickie loved!...

The lady left him alone with a book, beautiful beyond his dreams--three
great volumes with pictures of things that had happened and been since
the days of Hereward himself. The author's charming name was Green, and
recalled curtains and nights under the stars.

But even those beautiful pictures could not keep Dickie's thoughts from
Mr. Beale: "father" by adoption and love. If the police were set to find
out "where he was and what he was doing?"... Somehow or other Dickie
must get to Gravesend, to that house where there had been a bath, or
something like it, in a pail, and where kindly tramp-people had toasted
herrings and given apples to little boys who helped.

He had helped then. And by all the laws of fair play there ought to be
some one now to help him.

The beautiful book lay on the table before him, but he no longer saw it.
He no longer cared for it. All he cared for was to find a friend who
would help him. And he found one. And the friend who helped him was an
enemy.

The smart, pink-frocked, white-capped, white-aproned maid, who, unseen
by Dickie, had brought the bath-water and the bath, came in with a
duster. She looked malevolently at Dickie.

"Shovin' yourself in," she said rudely.

"I ain't," said he.

"If she wants to make a fool of a kid, ain't I got clever brothers and
sisters?" inquired the maid, her chin in the air.

"Nobody says you ain't, and nobody ain't makin' a fool of me," said
Dickie.

"Ho no. Course th