crying too, 'cause I felt a tear fall
on me, you know. So this morning I got up, awful' early, an' made myself
a bundle on a stick,--like Dick Whittington had when he left home, an' I
started off to find a fortune."

"I see," nodded Bellew.

"But I haven't found anything--yet," said Georgy Porgy, with a long
sigh, "I s'pose money takes a lot of looking for, doesn't it?"

"Sometimes," Bellew answered. "And do you live alone with your Auntie
then, Georgy Porgy?"

"Yes;--most boys live with their mothers, but that's where I'm
different, I don't need one 'cause I've got my Auntie Anthea."

"Anthea!" repeated Bellew, thoughtfully. Hereupon they fell silent,
Bellew watching the smoke curl up from his pipe into the warm, still
air, and Georgy Porgy watching him with very thoughtful eyes, and a
somewhat troubled brow, as if turning over some weighty matter in his
mind; at last, he spoke:

"Please," said he, with a sudden diffidence, "where do you live?"

"Live," repeated Bellew, smiling, "under my hat,--here, there, and
everywhere, which means--nowhere in particular."

"But I--I mean--where is your home?"

"My home," said Bellew, exhaling a great cloud of smoke, "my home lies
beyond the 'bounding billow."

"That sounds an awful' long way off."

"It _is_ an awful' long way off."

"An' where do you sleep while--while you're here?"

"Anywhere they'll let me. To-night I shall sleep at some inn, I suppose,
if I can find one, if not,--under a hedge, or hay-rick."

"Oh!--haven't you got any home of your own, then,--here?"

"No."

"And--you're not going home just yet,--I mean across the 'bounding
billow?'"

"Not yet."

"Then--please--" the small boy's voice was suddenly tremulous and eager,
and he laid a little, grimy hand upon Bellew's sleeve, "please--if it
isn't too much trouble--would you mind coming with me--to--to help me to
find the fortune?--you see, you are so very big, an'--Oh!--will
you please?"

George Bellew sat up suddenly, and smiled; Bellew's smile was, at all
times, wonderfully pleasant to see, at least, the boy thought so.

"Georgy Porgy," said he, "you can just bet your small life, I will,--and
there's my hand on it, old chap." Bellew's lips were solemn now, but all
the best of his smile seemed, somehow, to have got into his gray eyes.
So the big hand clasped the small one, and as they looked at each other,
there sprang up a certain understanding that was to be an enduring bond
between them