It was not the next day, which was a Saturday, that they took the train like dukes. Nor was it Sunday, on which they took a rest and washed their shirts, according to Mr. Beale's rule of life. They took the train on Monday, and it landed them in a very bright town by the sea. Its pavements were of red brick and its houses of white stone, and its bow-windows and balconies were green, and Dickie thought it was the prettiest town in the world. They did not stay there, but walked out across the downs, where the skylarks were singing, and on a dip of the downs came upon great stone walls and towers very strong and gray. "What's that there?" said Dickie. "It's a carstle--like wot the King's got at Windsor." "Is it a king as lives 'ere, then?" Dickie asked. "No! Nobody don't live 'ere, mate," said Mr. Beale. "It's a ruin, this is. Only howls and rats lives in ruins." "Did any one ever live in it?" "I shouldn't wonder," said Mr. Beale indifferently. "Yes, course they must 'ave, come to think of it. But you learned all that at school. It's what they call 'ist'ry." Dickie, after some reflection, said, "D'jever 'ear of Here Ward?" "I knowed a Jake Ward wunst." "Here Ward the Wake. He ain't a bloke you'd know--_'e's_ in 'istry. Tell you if you like." The tale of Hereward the Wake lasted till the jolting perambulator came to anchor in a hollow place among thick furze bushes. The bare, thick stems 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 a-goin' to lay low 'ere all d'y, we are. And then come evening we're a-goin' 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. "Whatever you tells me to say," he said. The man slapped his leg gently.