"He ought to be at home with his mother," said the lady.
Beale drew his coat sleeve across his eyes.
"'E ain't got no mother," he said; "she was took bad sudden--a chill it was, and struck to her innards. She died in the infirmary. Three months ago it was, mum. And us not able even to get a bit of black for her."
"Poor little man!" said the lady; "you miss your mother, don't you?"
"Yuss," said Dickie sadly; "but farver, 'e's very good to me. I couldn't get on if it wasn't for farver."
"Oh, well done, little 'un!" said Mr. Beale to himself.
"We lay under a 'aystack last night," he said aloud, "and where we'll lie to-night gracious only knows, without some kind soul lends us a 'elping 'and."
The lady fumbled in her pocket, and the little girl said to Dickie--
"I ain't got but two," said Dickie, "and they're at 'ome; one of them's silver--real silver--my grandfarver 'ad it when 'e was a little boy."
"But if you've got silver you oughtn't to be begging," said the lady, shutting up her purse. Beale frowned.
"It only pawns for a shilling," said Dickie, "and farver knows what store I sets by it."
"A shillin's a lot, I grant you that," said Beale eagerly; "but I wouldn't go to take away the nipper's little bit o' pleasure, not for no shilling I wouldn't," he ended nobly, with a fond look at Dickie.
[Illustration: "'IT ONLY PAWNS FOR A SHILLIN',' SAID DICKIE"
"Yes, isn't he, mother?" said the little girl. "May I give the little boy my penny?"
The two travellers were left facing each other, the richer by a penny, and oh--wonderful good fortune--a whole half-crown. They exchanged such glances as might pass between two actors as the curtain goes down on a successful dramatic performance.
"You did that bit fine," said Beale--"fine, you did. You been there before, ain't ye?"
"No, I never," said Dickie; "'ere's the steever."
"You stick to that," said Beale, radiant with delight; "you're a fair masterpiece, you are; you earned it honest if ever a kid done. Pats you on the napper, she does, and out with 'arf a dollar! A bit of all right, I call it!"
They went on up the hill as happy as any one need wish to be.
They had told lies, you observe, and had by these lies managed to get half a crown and a penny out of the charitable; and far from being ashamed of their acts, they were bubbling over with merriment and delight at their own cleverness. Please do not be too shocked. Remember that neither of them knew any better. To the elder tramp lies and begging were natural means of livelihood. To the little tramp the whole thing was a new and entrancing game of make-believe.