Mr. Beale slouched off in the sunshine in his filthy old clothes, and Dickie was left to work alone in the green and golden wood. It was very still. Dickie hardly moved at all, and the chips that fell from his work fell more softly than the twigs and acorns that dropped now and then from some high bough. A goldfinch swung on a swaying hazel branch and looked at him with bright eyes, unafraid; a grass snake slid swiftly by--it was out on particular business of its own, so it was not afraid of Dickie nor he of it. A wood-pigeon swept rustling wings across the glade where he sat, and once a squirrel ran right along a bough to look down at him and chatter, thickening its tail as a cat does hers when she is angry. It was a long and very beautiful day, the first that Dickie had ever spent alone. He worked harder than ever, and when by the lessening light it was impossible to work any longer, he lay back against a tree root to rest his tired back and to gloat over the thought that he had made two boxes in one day--eight shillings--in one single day, eight splendid shillings. The sun was quite down before Mr. Beale returned. He looked unnaturally fat, and as he sat down on the moss something inside the front of his jacket moved and whined. "Oh! what is it?" Dickie asked, sitting up, alert in a moment; "not a dawg? Oh! farver, you don't know how I've always wanted a dawg." "Well, you've a-got yer want now, three times over, you 'ave," said Beale, and, unbuttoning his jacket, took out a double handful of soft, fluffy sprawling arms and legs and heads and tails--three little fat, white puppies. "Oh, the jolly little beasts!" said Dickie; "ain't they fine? Where did you get them?" "They was give me," said Mr. Beale, re-knotting his handkerchief, "by a lady in the country." He fixed his eyes on the soft blue of the darkening sky. "Try another," said Dickie calmly. "Ah! it ain't no use trying to deceive the nipper--that sharp he is," said Beale, with a mixture of pride and confusion. "Well, then, not to deceive you, mate, I bought 'em." "What with?" said Dickie, lightning quick. "With--with money, mate--with money, of course." "How'd you get it?" No answer. "You didn't pinch it?" "No--on my sacred sam, I didn't," said Beale eagerly; "pinching leads to trouble. I've 'ad my lesson." "You cadged it, then?" said Dickie. "Well," said Beale sheepishly, "what if I did?" "You've spoiled everything," said Dickie, furious, and he flung the two newly finished boxes violently to the ground, and sat frowning with eyes downcast. Beale, on all fours, retrieved the boxes. "Two," he said, in awestruck tones; "there never was such a nipper!" "It doesn't matter," said Dickie in a heartbroken voice, "you've spoiled everything, and you lie to me, too. It's all spoiled. I wish I'd never come back outer the dream, so I do."