"I'll put you in the van along with the other hampers," whispered Joe as he shut the lid. "Then when you're in the train you just cut the string with this 'ere little knife I'll make you a present of and out you gets. I'll make it all right with the guard. He knows me. And he'll put you down at whatever station you say." "Here, don't forget 'is breakfast," said Markham, reaching her arm through the window. It was a wonderful breakfast. Five cold rissoles, a lot of bread and butter, two slices of cake, and a bottle of milk. And it was fun eating agreeable and unusual things, lying down in the roomy hamper among the smooth straw. The jolting of the cart did not worry Dickie at all. He was used to the perambulator; and he ate as much as he wanted to eat, and when that was done he put the rest in his pocket and curled up comfortably in the straw, for there was still quite a lot left of what ordinary people consider night, and also there was quite a lot left of the sleepiness with which he had gone to bed at the end of the wonderful day. It was not only just body-sleepiness: the kind you get after a long walk or a long play day. It was mind-sleepiness--Dickie had gone through so much in the last thirty-six hours that his poor little brain felt quite worn out. He fell asleep among the straw, fingering the clasp-knife in his pocket, and thinking how smartly he would cut the string when the time came. [Illustration: "THREE OR FOUR FACES LOOKED DOWN AT DICKIE" [_Page 70_] And he slept for a very long time. Such a long time that when he did wake up there was no longer any need to cut the string of the hamper. Some one else had done that, and the lid of the basket was open, and three or four faces looked down at Dickie, and a girl's voice said-- "Why, it's a little boy! And a crutch--oh, dear!" Dickie sat up. The little crutch, which was lying corner-wise above him in the hamper, jerked out and rattled on the floor. "Well, I never did--never!" said another voice. "Come out, dearie; don't be frightened." "How kind people are!" Dickie thought, and reached his hands to slender white hands that were held out to him. A lady in black--her figure was as slender as her hands--drew him up, put her arms round him, and lifted him on to a black bentwood chair. His eyes, turning swiftly here and there, showed him that he was in a shop--a shop full of flowers and fruit. "Mr. Rosenberg," said the slender lady--"oh, do come here, please! This extra hamper----" A dark, handsome, big-nosed man came towards them. "It's a dear little boy," said the slender lady, who had a pale, kind face, dark eyes, and very red lips. "It'th a practical joke, I shuppothe," said the dark man. "Our gardening friend wanth a liththon: and I'll thee he getth it." "It wasn't his fault," said Dickie, wriggling earnestly in his high chair; "it was my fault. I fell asleep." The girls crowded round him with questions and caresses.