"But perhaps when the master of the shop sees how clever you are," said Millie, ignoring that part of Phil's speech that referred to herself, "perhaps he'll let you serve behind the counter, or some day, Phil, you might keep the books; just think of that!" Millie had a profound belief in her brother's abilities to do anything and everything; for hadn't he been the very first boy in the school at Chormouth, and didn't their mother say that her son seemed to have such a liking for books that she would try to make a schoolmaster of him? "Anyhow, Millie," Phil said, with an effort to be cheerful, "I will earn enough money for us both some day. But there, I say that so often, that you must be tired of hearing it. Look away yonder. Do you see the moon coming up over the chimneys there?" Millie looked in the direction to which he pointed. "It is very beautiful, Phil, even here," she said softly. "What is that high straight tower called?" "That is the Shot Tower, where shot is made." Then he explained the process to her—how melted lead is poured through a colander at the top of the tower and made to drop into a vessel of water at the bottom, in perfect little spherical forms—"like the drops of rain, you know, Millie." Then he pointed out the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey; bade her listen to the half-hour as it struck from Big Ben, and told her what he knew of the history of the many large buildings in the neighbourhood of Waterloo Bridge. Had Cleopatra's Needle been there then, he might have made his sister's eyes grow big with wonder at the marvellous stories that could be related of that, but the famous obelisk was at that time in its old place at Alexandria. And now the moon, the full moon, had risen over the mighty city of London. Near objects were bathed in its bright, pure light, while far-away in the distance the scene was lost to view in a soft haziness. It was a grand sight. Millie was amazed and awe-struck. Silently she gazed around her, then, kneeling on her seat, leant her head over the parapet, and looked down on the river beneath. Phil noticed that she shivered. "You are cold, Millie," he said gently. "Hadn't we better go back now?" "No, not just yet," she replied. "It is only because the water looks so dark and gloomy in the shadow that I shiver. It looks hungry, too, as if it longed to open its mouth and swallow one up. Ah! Phil, I like the sea best. Listen now. I will tell you what I dreamed last night; then if you like we will go home." Millie paused a moment, then began: