"'Of course,' debated Murkel, 'you are a very amazing person. I meet you one day and you swear that nobody ever wants anything you do, and is never likely to want any of your work again; and then a few days after, without rhyme or reason, you swear they will take everything, even the things you haven't written. I don't pretend to consider you at all sane, but I am prepared to tackle the publishers for you; and, by Jove, you are really eccentric enough to have done something really good, so you may be right. But I cannot and will not understand why you cannot take a hundred guineas down for that little Dick Whittington.' "'Do you believe in mascots, Murkel?' I asked. "'Yes,' he said. 'I've got a black cat in the shop that always sits on a big Chinese idol whenever I have any luck. I don't know what it is, but the combination of my black cat Timps and that Chinese idol is extraordinary, and the greatest mascot I know.' "Well, I told him that my mascots were a lion and the china Dick Whittington. "'Where's the lion?' asked Murkel, always on the look-out for curios. "'Oh, that is at present in a collection,' I told him, at the same time fervently hoping that Lal would forgive me for ever referring to him as being in a collection, for I knew the feeling of majestic toleration with which he regarded the other three lions. "Very little more remains to be told, except that the person who was most astonished when my first book was instantly accepted was Murkel, and his astonishment appeared to greatly increase as each of my succeeding books made their appearance in print, whilst to-day is one of the red-letter days of my life, for the most important of all my books was published this morning, and so it is all doubtless intended to form part of to-day's story; and, by the way, so is to-day's tea." * * * * * "Ridgwell, would you ring the bell for the housekeeper? I have ordered all the sort of cakes you and Christine like best." "I think it is a more wonderful story than Dick Whittington's," commented Ridgwell, as he rang the bell; "but before we have tea, we do so want to see the little china Dick Whittington which made all your story come true, and which is worth such a lot of money." "You shall both see him presently, but at the present moment Dick Whittington is safely packed up; he is going to be given away this evening with a copy of my new book." "Given away?" echoed the children blankly. The Writer nodded. "I can't make out how you can bear to part with it," suggested Ridgwell; "I know I would never give it away. Who is it for?" "You will both see presently; and really, you know, if you come to consider it, it is not of any use giving anybody something one does not care for, for that is not a gift at all." "It seems jolly hard to part with the one thing you like best," observed Ridgwell. The Writer laughed. "Ah! Ridgwell, that is the only kind of gift worth giving in the world." CHAPTER VII