"You much better be my little nipper," said Beale. "Steady on, mate. 'Ow'm I to wheel the bloomin' pram if you goes on like as if you was a bag of eels?" They camped by a copse for the midday meal, sat on the grass, made a fire of sticks, and cooked herrings in a frying-pan, produced from one of the knobbly bundles. "It's better'n Fiff of November," said Dickie; "and I do like you. I like you nexter my own daddy and Mr. Baxter next door." "That's all right," said Mr. Beale awkwardly. It was in the afternoon that, half-way up a hill, they saw coming over the crest a lady and a little girl. "Hout yer gets," said Mr. Beale quickly; "walk as 'oppy as you can, and if they arsts you you say you ain't 'ad nothing to eat since las' night and then it was a bit o' dry bread." "Right you are," said Dickie, enjoying the game. "An' mind you call me father." "Yuss," said Dickie, exaggerating his lameness in the most spirited way. It was acting, you see, and all children love acting. Mr. Beale went more and more slowly, and as the lady and the little girl drew near he stopped altogether and touched his cap. Dickie, quick to imitate, touched his. "Could you spare a trifle, mum," said Beale, very gently and humbly, "to 'elp us along the road? My little chap, 'e's lame like wot you see. It's a 'ard life for the likes of 'im, mum." "He ought to be at home with his mother," said the lady. Beale drew his coat sleeve across his eyes. "'E ain't got no mother," he said; "she was took bad sudden--a chill it was, and struck to her innards. She died in the infirmary. Three months ago it was, mum. And us not able even to get a bit of black for her." Dickie sniffed. "Poor little man!" said the lady; "you miss your mother, don't you?" "Yuss," said Dickie sadly; "but farver, 'e's very good to me. I couldn't get on if it wasn't for farver." "Oh, well done, little 'un!" said Mr. Beale to himself. "We lay under a 'aystack last night," he said aloud, "and where we'll lie to-night gracious only knows, without some kind soul lends us a 'elping 'and." 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. [Illustration: "'IT ONLY PAWNS FOR A SHILLIN',' SAID DICKIE" [_Page 37_] "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?"