"Thank you," he said in a comfortable sort of voice that sounded like wind among telegraph wires on a high road: then added "kindly all." And instantly the children felt delighted with him; their sympathy was gained; fear vanished; the Policeman, like a scape-goat, took all their sins away. They did not actually move closer to the Tramp but their eyes went nestling in and out among his tattered figure. Judy, however, it was noticeable, looked at him as though spell-bound. To her he was, perhaps, as her Uncle said, the Great Adventurer, the type of romantic Wanderer for ever on the quest of perilous things--a Knight. It was Uncle Felix who first broke the pause. "You've come a long way," he suggested. "Oh, about the same as usual," replied the Tramp, as though all distances and localities were one to him. "Which means--?" "From nowhere, and from everywhere." "And you are going on to--?" "Always the same place." "Which is--?" "The end." He said it in a rumbling voice that seemed to issue from a pocket of the torn old coat rather than from his bearded mouth. "Oh, dear," sighed Judy, "that is a _very_ long way indeed. But, of course, you never get tired out?" Her eyes were brimmed with admiration. He shrugged his great loose shoulders. It was odd how there seemed to be another thing within all that baggy clothing and behind the hair. The shaggy exterior covered a slimmer thing that was happy, laughing, dancing to break out. "Not tired out," he said, "a bit sleepy sometimes, p'r'aps." He glanced round him carelessly, his strange eyes resting finally on Judy's face. "But there's lots of beds about," he explained to her, "once you know how to make 'em." "Yes," the child murmured, with a kind of soft applause, "of course there must be." "And those wot sleeps in ditches dreams the sweetest--that _I_ know." "They must," agreed Judy, as though grass and dock leaves were familiar to her. "And you get up when you're ready, don't you?" "That's it," replied the wanderer. "Only you always _are_ ready." "But how do you know the time?" asked Tim. The Tramp turned round slowly and looked at his questioner. "Time!" he snorted. And he exchanged a mysterious glance of sympathy with Maria, who lifted her eyes in return, but otherwise made no sign whatever. "Sit quiet like," he added, "and everything worth 'aving comes of itself. That's living that is. The 'ole world belongs to you." "I've got a watch," said Tim, as though challenged. "I've got an alarum clock too. Only you have to wind them up, of course." "There you are!" the Tramp exclaimed, "you've got to wind 'em up. They don't go of theirselves, do they?" "Oh, no." "I never knew 'appiness until I chucked my watch away," continued the other. "_Your_ watch!" exclaimed Tim. "Well, not igsackly," laughed the Tramp. "Oh, he didn't mean _that_," Judy put in quickly.