Harding's luck

e cribs. It's low-that's what it is. I quite grant you

and Dickie had told Mr. Beale all his earthly adventures from the moment the redheaded man had lifted him up

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,

d idly plaited them together; the nurse had taught him

hat you're doing," said Be

dreamed I 'ad a fever-and-I'll tell you if you lik

e dry stubble, his p

e said, and Di

as beginning to go down towards its

d Beale, quite awestruck. "The things you

, I tell you,

tick it on," said M

e," said Dickie. "They called it lying and

see what comes of it! 'No. 2' a-goin' to stick it on no more! T

d Dickie, "but we g

Beale. "Besides, you've got a regular gift for sticking it on-a talent I

em to be no unemployed. Every one was 'prenti

rtly. "I wasn't never 'prenticed to

dream, I did-and I started making a boat-a galleon they called it. All the names is diff

ather'

terns like; they calls 'em coats of arms, and they put it o

" Beale as

All gentlepeo

th sudden fierceness, "'cause I won't 'ave it. See? It's

ain't been gentry more than a couple of hundr

o part company, that's what you want. Well, go. Go back to yer old Talbots and be the nice

forlornly out

gs. Uncles and aunts an' a little brother. I never seen him though. An' a farver

gently, "what do you go settin

"I thought you liked me

hy clothes of his friend, and he thought of his other friend, Sebastian of the Docks. He saw the pale bl

make no differ

le with misera

This 'ere's my Tinkler, what I told you about, what pawns for a

the ra

's a fancy bit, I

d Dickie, "what

come back out of the dream just for his sake? Beale who di

ether. I'm not goin' to do things wot's wrong-low, dirty tricks-so I ain't. But I knows w

I was a wagoner's mate when I was a boy. I likes a 'orse. Or a dawg," he adde

ing into that dream again, learning some useful tr

ng else you'd like

" said Mr. Beale drearily;

ay learned." Things you learned to do with your hands. The Greek and the

did dream it, honor bright. I dreamed I could carve wood-make boxes and things. I wish I 'ad a bit of fine-grained wo

o' wood?" B

I made my box with," said D

ter self-reproach; "my doin' too-puttin' 'im

ed himself

I didn't mean nothing, old chap. You keep all on about yer dreams. I don

k to the Gravese

nely leg of a sofa-mahogany, a fat

you want?

if I could. I say, farver, let's get out in the woods somewheres quiet and take our gr

rough the long, warm hours of the autumn day Mr. Beale lay lazy in the sunshine while Dickie, very pal

a flat bottle. For from the moment when the knife touched the wood Dickie knew that he had not forgotten, and that what he had done in the Deptf

that Mr. Beale beg

you've got the hang of it

x with a lid that fits. And I'll carve our arms on th

stuck to it till there was hardly light left to see it by. But before the light was w

a swell bloke 'ud give 'arf a dollar for that to put 'is baccy in. You've got a trade, my son, tha

owded, gas-lit room. When supper was over-it was tripe and onions and

ge. "Here's a thing and a very pretty thing, a baccy-box, or a snuff-

woman, with a basket covered in Ame

. "I'll 'and it round in me 'and.

showed the neat corners, the neat ca

at?" asked a man wit

pper ma

ore likely,"

t," said Beale, f

some reason of his own Beale let the old man take the box into his

to look at me. There ain't nobody here to pay what that little hobjec's worth. Hoil it up with a drop of cold linseed and leave it all night, and then in the morning you rub it on yer trou

," said Beale,

When Dickie next saw the box it

cs," said Beale. They were on the road and their faces were set towa

uch," he said; "warn't

kie, thinking of the bed in the d

s?" Beale asked

'raps it was me wanting so to

Beale, picking up

to dream that dream again. Perhaps he would never be able to dream it. He stumbled on a big stone and would have fallen bu

id-for in all their wanderings these

his face against Beale's

the accents of long-disused tendern

ly," sobb

it's silly or not," said

" said Dickie,

ly. "You best dream that every night. Th

id Dickie, sniffing h

in the crowded perambulator, and they went on

er see me blub afore and you won't again," he said;

ush?" the boy

usty," sa

x to a chap I know wot lent me the money f

other day when

"I could make another box. There's a

ng start. Mr. Beale begged of all likely foot-passengers, but he noted that the "nipper" no longer "stuck it on." For the most part he w

ped in for half a pint at the Railway Hotel, while Dickie went

aid that tradesman; "c

seemed suddenly to have become a

nt me to get to Gravesend with." He paused, and adde

hat you're after," said the Jew, who had already

" said Dickie, with digni

said the Jew, lau

got this." He handed the li

d you g

ade

ell, well, I'll ask no questions

gnity of the dream boy who was not a cripple and was heir to a

ed fiercely within him against the habits of a business life. Dickie eyed the china

man said at last with an effort; "and it i

pay my debt to you, and if it is worth more, accept it as a

"the way you talk beats everything. All serene. I'll take the box in full

kie, and put his lips

you four bob for every one of them you make and bri

ught to do one

day dress and a pair of sheets to pawn because he

, "I've nothing more for you t

at the pawnbroker's door, and Dickie la

away with eight silver shillings in his pocket, the first coins he had ever carried in his life. They seem

ckie drew him down a side street and held out the silver. "Two days' work," he said. "We ain't no call to take the

. Beale, with

for a chap an' 'is nipper ain't so dusty, farver, is it? I've thought it all up and settled it all out. So long as the weather holds we'll sleep in the bed wit

s were shining

ike work," said Mr. Beale in

ter'n cadgin',

and doze and wake and watch Dickie's busy fingers and eat and doze again. B

own. Don't you forget to eat your dinner when the sun

e twigs and acorns that dropped now and then from some high bough. A goldfinch swung on a swaying hazel branch and looked at him with bright eyes, unafraid; a grass snake slid swiftly by-it was out on particular business of its own, so it

the lessening light it was impossible to work any longer, he lay back against a tree root to rest his tired back and to

oked unnaturally fat, and as he sat down on the moss so

alert in a moment; "not a dawg? Oh! farver,

and, unbuttoning his jacket, took out a double handful of soft, fluffy sp

!" said Dickie; "ain't they

ale, re-knotting his handkerchi

on the soft blue o

r," said Di

arp he is," said Beale, with a mixture of pride and confu

aid Dickie, li

y, mate-with mo

you g

ans

dn't pi

said Beale eagerly; "pinching lea

it, then?"

ale sheepishly,

and he flung the two newly finished boxes violently

fours, retri

struck tones; "there n

u've spoiled everything, and you lie to me, too. It's all sp

'm going to put up with being bullied and druv by a little nipper like as I could lay out with one 'and as easy as what I could one of them pups?"

rly, "lay me out if you

ate remonstrance-"I was only kiddin'. Don't take it like tha

doing it. And you've lowered us to the cadgin'

as big as a tea-tray, and all the path wet. An' the lady in her white, she looks at the path and the gent 'e looks at 'er white boots-an' I off's with me coat like that there Rally gent you yarned me about

OPS IT DOWN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE P

ge

id Dickie

a month ago, and I knew I could have 'em for five bob, so I got 'em. And I'll sell em for thribble the money, you see if I don't. An' I thought you'd be as pleased

ce of you and I am pleased-and I do love the pups-and we won't sell all three, will us? I would so like to ha

all right,

True was more to him than many birds or squirrels. A woman they had overtaken on the road had given him a bit of blue ribbon for the puppy's neck, in return for the lift which Mr. Beale had given her basket on the perambulator

ndon a respectable-looking man was walking up and down Regent Street among the shoppers and the

d she wanted it. Gent said he'd get her plenty better. No-she wanted that. An' she got it too. A fool and his money's soon parted's what I say. And t'other one I let 'im go cheap, for fourteen bob, to a bla

accounts on a large flagstone near the horse trough by the

like

Bo

o

o

o

g

g

t Do

ub

am

e

ce between twenty-nine shillings and seventy was about two pounds-and that

Or rather a lodging. A room. But when you have had what is called the key of th

ale asked anxiously. "You li

said

winter-time?

s trying to invent a box of a new and

here's a plenty here and there all about-and you with yo

se with a garde

yer Talbots,

"if we was to take a 'ouse-just a

t no sticks

you get furniture wi

fs on three quid a week, reg'lar

of the seeds I sowed in the garden; I lay they'll keep on a-coming up, forever and ever. That's what annuals means. The chap ne

own Mr. Beale the sad-faced little house, Mr.

of sticks or else nobody w

ty sackings still lay scattered on the floor as they had fallen from Dickie

beheld once more the seaport from which in old and beautiful days he had set

lly; "it 'ud save fourpence. Both 'ouses

o our fourpences so shar

lik

ou ain't

d Dickie; "it was our

r," said Beale; "don't be so

at a coffee-shop

wo cups of tea, four eggs, and some thick bread and butter." It was a pleasant meal. Only just at the end it turned into something quite different. The sho

air half-way to his mou

g to turn on the narrow seat an

setting down the mug. "That re

; only "better luck next time" from the redheaded man, and "I don't know as I'm taking any" from Beale, and at the parting the redheaded man saying, "I'll doss sam

aded one as he slouched out, and Dickie and Beale were left to finish t

went out D

nt, farver-that

not at o

id Dickie, looking straight i

dn't

er he w

old you yet wha

to no good-

'is notions come out right 'e'll be a-ridin' in 'is own cart and

Maria, more lik

' you to do anything

ever you're in, I'm a-go

n anything yet, 'ave I? Let's 'ear what 'e says in the morning. If '

ere old 'ouse of ours. I don't want that red'eaded chap. He'll spoil everything-I know 'e will, just as w

word with nobody without it's y

mly; "and oh! farver, I do so wanter sleep in that

said Beale; "lucky we've

in this place where it had once come, his dream would come again. But it did not come-even sleep, plain, restful, dreamless sleep, would not come to him. At last he could lie still no longer. He slipped from under the paper, whose rustling did not disturb Mr. Beale's slumbers, and moved into the square of light thrown through the window by the street lamp. He felt in his pockets, pulled out Tinkler and the white seal, set them on the floor, and, moved by

not reply that he was "not particular." Instead, he said, "Oh, there! I want to go there!" feeling quite sure

like a soft garment. When he awoke he lay in the big four-post bed with the green and

've found it again!-I've

the queer cap and the white ruff was bending over him;

she said. "Did'st thou fin

hugge

d; "I don't know which is the dre

se, "I know. The one is

g round the room, jumping on to chai

"get thy hose on, for shame, taking a chill

by the window that looked out on the good green garden. "You don't k