Dickie left the shop without his moonflowers, indeed, but with his Tinkler now whitely shining, and declared to be "real silver, and mind you take care of it, my lad," his white cornelian seal carefully packed in a strong little cardboard box with metal corners. Also a broken-backed copy of "Ingoldsby Legends" and one of "Mrs. Markham's English History," which had no back at all. "You must go on trying to improve your mind," said the pawnbroker fussily. He was very pleased with himself for having been so kind. "And come back and see me--say next month." "I will," said Dickie. "A thousand blessings from a grateful heart. I will come back. I say, you are good! Thank you, thank you--I will come back next month, and tell you everything I have learned from the Perru Sal of your books." "Perusal," said the pawnbroker--"that's the way to pernounce it. Good-bye, my man, and next month." But next month found Dickie in a very different place from the pawnbroker's shop, and with a very different person from the pawnbroker who in his rural retirement at Brockley gardened in such a gentlemanly way. Dickie went home--his aunt was still out. His books told him that treasure is best hidden under loose boards, unless of course your house has a secret panel, which his had not. There was a loose board in his room, where the man "saw to" the gas. He got it up, and pushed his treasures as far in as he could--along the rough, crumbly surface of the lath and plaster. Not a moment too soon. For before the board was coaxed quite back into its place the voice of the aunt screamed up. "Come along down, can't you? I can hear you pounding about up there. Come along down and fetch me a ha'porth o' wood--I can't get the kettle to boil without a fire, can I?" When Dickie came down his aunt slightly slapped him, and he took the halfpenny and limped off obediently. It was a very long time indeed before he came back. Because before he got to the shop with no window to it, but only shutters that were put up at night, where the wood and coal were sold, he saw a Punch and Judy show. He had never seen one before, and it interested him extremely. He longed to see it unpack itself and display its wonders, and he followed it through more streets than he knew; and when he found that it was not going to unpack at all, but was just going home to its bed in an old coach-house, he remembered the fire-wood; and the halfpenny clutched tight and close in his hand seemed to reproach him warmly. He looked about him, and knew that he did not at all know where he was. There was a tall, thin, ragged man lounging against a stable door in the yard where the Punch and Judy show lived. He took his clay pipe out of his mouth to say-- "What's up, matey? Lost your way?" Dickie explained. "It's Lavender Terrace where I live," he ended--"Lavender Terrace, Rosemary Street, Deptford."