ey ain't," the maid rejoined. "People comes 'ere
without e'er a shirt to their backs and makes fools of their betters.
That's the way it is, ain't it? Ain't she arst you to stay and be 'er
little boy?"

"Yes," said Dickie.

"Ah, I thought she 'ad," said the maid triumphantly; "and you'll stay.
But if I'm expected to call you Master Whatever-your-silly-name-is, I
gives a month's warning, so I tell you straight."

"I don't want to stay," said Dickie--"at least----"

"Oh, tell me another," said the girl impatiently, and left him, without
having made the slightest use of the duster.

Dickie was taken for a drive in a little carriage drawn by a
cream-colored pony with a long tail--a perfect dream of a pony, and the
lady allowed him to hold the reins. But even amid this delight he
remembered to ask whether she had put the police on to father yet, and
was relieved to hear that she had not.

It was Markham who was told to wash Dickie's hands when the drive was
over, and Markham was the enemy with the clever brothers and sisters.

"Wash 'em yourself," she said among the soap and silver and marble and
sponges. "It ain't my work."

"You'd better," said Dickie, "or the lady'll know the difference. It
ain't my work neither, and I ain't so used to washing as what you are,
and that's the truth."

So she washed him, not very gently.

"It's no use your getting your knife into me," he said as the towel was
plied. "I didn't _arst_ to come 'ere, did I?"

"No, you little thief!"

"Stow that!" said Dickie, and after a quick glance at his set lips she
said, "Well, next door to, anyhow. I should be ashamed to show my face
'ere, if I was you, after last night. There, you're dry now. Cut along
down to the dining-room. The servants' hall's good enough for honest
people as don't break into houses."

All through that day of wonder, which included real roses that you could
pick and smell and real gooseberries that you could gather and eat, as
well as picture-books, a clockwork bear, a musical box, and a doll's
house almost as big as a small villa, an idea kept on hammering at the
other side of a locked door in Dickie's mind, and when he was in bed it
got the door open and came out and looked at him. And he recognized it
at once as a really useful idea.

"Markham will bring you some warm milk. Drink it up and sleep well,
darling," said the lady; and with the idea very near and plain he put
his arms round her neck and hugged her.