place among thick furze bushes. The bare, thick steins of the furze held it up like a roof over their heads as they sat. It was like a little furze house.
Next morning Mr. Beale shaved, a thing he had not done since they left London. Dickie held the mug and the soap. It was great fun, and, afterwards, Mr. Beale looked quite different. That was great fun too. And he got quite a different set of clothes out of his bundles, and put them on. And that was the greatest fun of all.
"Now, then," he said, "we're agoin' to lay low 'ere all d'y, we are. And then come evening we're agoin' to 'ave our beano. That red-'eaded chap wot you never see 'e'll lift you up to a window what's got bars to it, and you'll creep through, you being so little, and you'll go soft's a mouse the way I'll show you, and undo the side-door. There's a key and a chain and a bottom bolt. The top bolt's cut through, and all the others is oiled. That won't frighten you, will it?"
"No," said Dickie. "What should it frighten me for?"
"Well, it's like this," said Mr. Beale a little embarrassed. "Suppose you was to get pinched?"
"What ud pinch me? A dawg?"
"There won't be no dawg. A man, or a lady, or somebody in the 'ouse. Supposen they was to nab you—what 'ud you say?"
Dickie was watching his face carefully.
