The lady fumbled in her pocket, and the little girl said to Dickie—
"Where are all your toys?"
"I ain't got but two," said Dickie, "and they're at 'ome; one of them's silver—real silver—my grandfarver 'ad it when 'e was a little boy."
"But if you've got silver you oughtn't to be begging," said the lady, shutting up her purse. Beale frowned.
"It only pawns for a shilling," said Dickie, "and farver knows what store I sets by it."
"A shillin's a lot, I grant you that," said Beale eagerly; "but I wouldn't go to take away the nipper's little bit o' pleasure, not for no shilling I wouldn't," he ended nobly, with a fond look at Dickie.
"You're a kind father," said the lady.
"Yes, isn't he, mother?" said the little girl. "May I give the little boy my penny?"
The two travellers were left facing each other, the richer by a penny, and oh—wonderful good fortune—a whole half-crown. They exchanged such glances as might pass between two actors as the curtain goes down on a successful dramatic performance.
"You did that bit fine," said Beale—"fine, you did. You been there before, ain't ye?"
"No," I never," said Dickie; "'ere's the steever."
"You stick to that," said Beale, radiant with delight; "you're a fair masterpiece, you are; you earned it honest if ever a kid done. Pats
