Harding's luck

d there in the sunsh

ic Bird Seed and gathered moonflowers and reaped the silver seeds of magic, for it was magic. Dickie was sure of it now. He had not lived in the time of the First James, be sure, without hearing magic talked of. And it seemed quite plain to him that if this that had happened to him was not magic, then there never was and never would be any magic to

ell, in thy dream

hem, and I want to learn a lot more things, so that when I go back again

y name should have to work

ought to do some duty to his country, or he wasn't worth his meat and ale.

ne long enough. Now haste and dress-and

ord, and he knew, quite as surely as any master craftsman could have known it, that nothing which required delicate handling, such as wood-carving or the making of toy boats, could ever be mastered by Beale. But Beale

e kennels he knocked on the door of the kennelman's house and called out, "What ho! within there!" just as people do in old plays. And the door was thrown open by a man in a complete suit of leat

d Dickie,

ectful salute, and Dickie perceived that though this man had the f

he asked cautiousl

e served my lord, your father, all my time, boy and

was a good deal to

rprise a modern veterinary surgeon very much indeed. But the dogs seemed well and happy, though they were doctored with herb tea instead of stuff

the dockyard and go on learning how ships were built. Sebastian looked up at the voice and ceased the blows

e since I have seen

-two whole long days. And those thou'st spent merrymaking in the K

g you know," said Dickie, picking

ME SINCE I HAVE SEEN

ge

ill teach thee all thou canst learn, but not all

t it's only play, and that I do not nee

nd seen how a gentleman venturer needs to turn his hand to every guess craft? If thou's so pleased

set to work on it. It was a happy day. And one happiness was to all the other happinesses of that day as the sun is

n the big house and the beautiful garden on the slopes above Deptford. And the nights had no dreams in them, and in the days Dickie lived gaily and worthily, the life of

eam about making the boxes and earning th

e none of our time here. And dreams about this pl

dured all night,

r white cap frills. "It was after the dream

k to Deptford at the same instant as he left it. Which is the essence of this particular kind of white magic. And thus it

rushing madness of mops and brooms and dusters and pails and everything in the house already perfectly clean was cleaned anew, and everything that was already polished was polished freshly, and when Dickie had been turned

ning," he said, "because i

ard cloth and holding it up critically. "To-morrow thy father and mother come home

us!" said Dickie. "Bu

twas because y

dreamily; "I was so afraid.

another from the deep press, oaken, with smooth-worn, brown ir

rather deceitful. "You said it made me forget thi

m," the nurse said, loo

added. "Oh, nurse, let me do som

egay for thy mother's room; and set them in order in fair water. And bi

our-faced tutor whom he so much disliked was neither easy nor pleasant. But Dickie did it. And the tu

py i

weet home

lory so

imself l

ives with pride

foul disgrace

as the only one which seemed to Dickie to mean anything in particular. In this verse Dickie was made to remark that he hoped people would say of him, "He died a good old man," which he did not hope, and indeed had never so much

there is

the place

e is no on

an my

lines-which were quite the best-were not his own make-up. So he abandoned the writing of poetry,

by his tutor into the presence of the finest gentleman and the dearest lady he had ever beheld. The tutor gave him a little push so that h

ur song of

es of gloom, and tremblingly pronounced

man's son, and not like a queasy square-toes." And they both laughed, and he cried a little, and the tutor seemed to be blotted out, and there they were, all three as jolly as if they had known each other all their lives. And

my lord drank from. And after dinner the dear lady-mother must go all over the house to see everything, because she had been so long away, and Dickie walk

perhaps, more on the riding, and the fencing, and the bowls, an

d Latin, too," he added in a hurry,

father, "thou dost

said Dickie, and looked up to meet the f

when they began their third round of the garde

ve asked," he said presently, "but I hav

uth, too! Owned he had forgot! Come

eve the beautiful hope t

ember," he said. "Fat

onstant at thy book and thy manly exercises, to give th

e horse?" It was good to hear one's father laugh that big, jolly lau

at them from his stall in the big stab

se were to be yours for the choosing? Dickie

he gray's every point, had had him saddled, and had rid

o fat," and he laughed, but Dickie did not understand the

, sitting square on the gray

the father

his father. "I mean even a lame boy could ride him. Oh! father, I am so happy!" he said, and bu

Remember of what blood thou art. And thy mother-she also hath a gift for thee-from thy grandfat

ickie. "You aren't vexed because I

thy growth in all things bears out in what I answered him. I said: 'The boys of our house, my lord, take that pride in it that they learn of their own free will wha

er and her babe by a lit

learning," the father said. And the l

him," she said. But Di

ime in all his life that he had spoken that w

l arms, and his little brother instantly cau

ight bunch unlocked one of the heavy panelled doors. She drew out of the darknes

"what it was that the grandfather promised him. T

t the bag in

ckie untied the leathern string, and poured out on to the

mother; "the image of that incomparable virgin Majesty who

BUT DICKIE

ge

t them up in the bag, boy. They are thi

," said the m

isely or unwisely. As he wills. And none,

areful housewife, and twenty

d Dickie. "Mother, you may

f grown people, he was the equal of these. And Beale was not his equal, either in the graces of the body or in the inner treasures of mind and heart. And hitherto he had loved only Beale; had only, so far as he could remember, been loved by Beale and by that shadowy father, his "Daddy," who had died in hospital, a

heart, quickened by love of them, felt itself drawn more and more to Mr. Beale. Mr. Beale, th

ses, to that beautiful tapestried room of his, he r

w a lot of thin

answered, undoing button

ine-that dream of mine, I mean,

d t

f this dream-I mean out of t

me again. And you could bring things thence. Certa

ared

d; "but I want to take thing

ed though

your hand, you'd lose it like as not in some of the years you go through. Money's mortal heavy and travels s

kie asked, insisting to hi

hen you get back into the other dream, the kind, thick earth will have hid your secret, and you can dig it up again. I

udden and unpleasing thought, "there's a house built on the place. I should be mixed up with the house. Two things can't be in the same place a

e one who knows. But it'll take time-put thy money in the great press, an

fact that he had not always been the Dickie he was now; but it was not so difficult as

e life, and joyous hours of play with two children who understood play as

e really belonged. And days and weeks and months went by and nothing happened,

ight the n

down and sleep on it. You'll take no harm, and when you're asleep I will say the right wo

indow. They had put his embroidered leather bag of gold in a little wrought-iron coffer that Sebastian had given him, and the nurse had tightly fastened the join of lid and box with wax and resin. The box wa

rits and the three hun

and together they filled the hole with

eturn," said the nurs

o

, and the moon-seeds as befor

ent of the roses was very sweet, and the nightingales kept him awake awhile. But the sky overhead was an old friend of his, and as he la

There was no grass near, only rough trampled earth; the smell all about him was not of roses, but of dust-bins, and there were no nightingales-but far away he could hear that restless roar that is the voice of London, and near at hand the foolish song and

es with his unwashed fists in the cold daylight that filled the front room of 15, Lavender T

; "but if the nipper says so, it is so. Let's go

n case anybody else was to take the house. You go and see 'im now.

s two days' beard-"p'raps I'd best get a wash and brush-up first, eh? It might be w

g man, and Mr. Beale accounted for their lack of furniture by saying, quite truthfull

do as well." He pulled out of one pocket all their money-two pounds eighteen shillings-except six pennies which he had put in the other pocket to rattle. He rattled them no

boy lived there along of the last party that had it

difficulty, and had no story

why I'm rather set on the 'ouse. You see, it

sharply. And again Beale was inspire

ttle chap's aunt wasn't much class. An' I found 'im wander

ndlord, who had been told by Dickie's aunt that th

on, "as knowing as a dog-ferret; and his patter-enough to make a cat laugh, 'e is sometimes

om a nail on the wall, "let's go down and

or me," said Beale; "c

ier days he had sometimes made faces, and when the landlo

h the house together; "an Englishman's 'ome is 'is castle-and what with the boxes you'll cut

one saw those sovereigns dug up, those sovereigns would be taken away from him. No one would believe that they were his own. And the earthenware pot was so big. And so many windows looked out on the garden. No one could hope to dig up a big thing like that from hi

e?" asked Beale, w

s just a-

said Beale; "it's a cruel world. 'No sti

a table and two chairs, and a kitchen fender with a round steel moon-only it was very rusty-and a hand-bowl for the sink, and a small zinc bath, "to wash your shirt in," said Mr. Beale. Four plates, two cups and saucers, two each of knives, forks, and spoons, a tin teapot, a quart jug, a pail, a bit of Kidderminster carpet, half a pound of yellow soap, a scrubbin

they were dumped down in the front room. The bed especi

said Mr. Beale. "Lady's and gent's easy-chairs, f

erywhere else. I'll go and get 'em while you clean the winders. That old s

orders, neither," s

s cheerful work completed the fortification of the Englishman's house against the inqu

it, if you ask me. People don't go to that extreme in Nottingham lace w

astonished Mr. Beale that there

no one sees us. I can't think of nothing but build a chicken-house and then dig insid

world. You're all right. Come on out and show us where you put it.

s he had scratched with the broken bit of plate. I

ng over's what I think-against the winter. I'll get a spade and 'ave a turn at

Then the man and the child went in and brought out the kitchen table and chairs, and laid blankets over them to air in the autumn sunlight. Dickie played at houses under the table-it was not the sort of game

. Beale had brought in with the other things from the garden. Also it was melted from the crack of the iron casket. Mr. Beale's eyes, always rather prominent, almost resembled the eyes of the lobster or the snail

ive you that. I d

said Dickie firmly. "I ne

I don't know as you ev

ickie, "they w

Beale despondently. "We'd get lagged

rniture, and a carpet and a crockery basin to wash our hands and faces in 'stead of that old tin thing. And a bath

k up with you. You're straight, you are-one of the best. Many's the boy would 'ave done a bu

kie, beginning to put the br

st. I didn't never take you along of me 'cause I fancied you like what I said. I was just a-looking o

Dickie, gravely watching the candl

said Beale, "when you wrote on the sole of my boot. I'd

me no 'arm, anyw

ake it difficult to confess anything truthfully-the desire to tell the worst of oneself and the desire to do full justice to oneself at the same time. It is so very hard n

said; "now you've told

eep a down o

in all high emprise. I mean," he explained, noticing Mr. Beale's open mouth and eyes more lobster-like than ever-"I mean that's all right, farver,

to drown Dickie in a pond full of ste

r world took no time and was so easy, Dickie did not

ll of dust-bins. It was no light thing to come back from that to this. And now he made a resolution-that he would not set out the charm of Tinkler and seal and moon-seeds until he had established Mr. Beale in an

t to see that the child was not lying when he said that th

he gave five pounds for the wrought-iron box, and owned that he should make a little-a very little-out of it. "And if your gra

friend to me. I hope some day I shall do you a better tu

ht-iron box that very

ckie. The back sitting-room was a kennel for the dogs which Mr. Beale instantly began to collect. The front room was a parlor-a real parlor. A decent young woman-Amelia by name-was engaged to come in every day and "do for" them. The clothes they wore were clean; the food they ate was good. Dicki

se if I were longer there than I am here I should not be growing up so fast here as I should there. And everything

fairly started he could do very well without me." But Dickie knew better. H

le room with a horsehair sofa and a big, worn easy-chair, a carpet, four old mahogany chairs, and a table with a clean blue-and-red checked cloth on it.

s snug in here,"

le, shining from soap; "

pup for ten shillings and came back to

p steady I will. But in the spring-when the weather gets a bit open-what d'you say to shutting up the little

d Dickie, "but wha

Couldn't get me to school, so they couldn't-allus after birds' nests or rabbits or the like. Not but what I liked it well enough where I was bred. I didn't tell you, did I, we passe

ee him some day

hanxiety to 'im. And besides, I shouldn't like to fin

it, and he filled his pip