both two of us, and sleep in that there old 'ouse of ours. I don't want
that red'eaded chap. He'll spoil everything--I know 'e will, just as
we're a-gettin' along so straight and gay. Don't let's go to that there
doss; let's lay in the old 'ouse."

"Ain't I never to 'ave never a word with nobody without it's you?" said
Beale, but not angrily.

"Not with 'im; 'e ain't no class," said Dickie firmly; "and oh! farver,
I do so wanter sleep in that 'ouse, that was where I 'ad The Dream, you
know."

"Oh, well--come on, then," said Beale; "lucky we've got our thick coats
on."

It was quite easy for Dickie to get into the house, just as he had done
before, and to go along the passage and open the front door for Mr.
Beale, who walked in as bold as brass. They made themselves comfortable
with the sacking and old papers--but one at least of the two missed the
luxury of clean air and soft moss and a bed canopy strewn with stars.
Mr. Beale was soon asleep and Dickie lay still, his heart beating to the
tune of the hope that now at last, in this place where it had once
come, his dream would come again. But it did not come--even sleep,
plain, restful, dreamless sleep, would not come to him. At last he could
lie still no longer. He slipped from under the paper, whose rustling did
not disturb Mr. Beale's slumbers, and moved into the square of light
thrown through the window by the street lamp. He felt in his pockets,
pulled out Tinkler and the white seal, set them on the floor, and, moved
by memories of the great night when his dream had come to him, arranged
the moon-seeds round them in the same pattern that they had lain in on
that night of nights. And the moment that he had lain the last seed,
completing the crossed triangles, the magic began again. All was as it
had been before. The tired eyes that must close, the feeling that
through his closed eyelids he could yet see something moving in the
centre of the star that the two triangles made.

"Where do you want to go to?" said the same soft small voice that had
spoken before. But this time Dickie did not reply that he was "not
particular." Instead, he said, "Oh, _there!_ I want to go there!"
feeling quite sure that whoever owned that voice would know as well as
he, or even better, where "there" was, and how to get to it.

And as on that other night everything grew very quiet, and sleep wrapped
Dickie round like a soft garment. When he awoke he lay in the big
four-post bed with