here."

The pale young man did something to Tinkler with some pinky powder and a
brush and a wash-leather, while his master fitted together the two
halves of a broken white cornelian.

"It came out of a seal," he said, "and I don't mind making you a present
of it."

"Oh!" said Dickie, "you are a real rightern." And he rested his crutch
against the counter expressly to clasp his hands in ecstasy as boys in
books did.

"My young man shall stick it together with cement," the pawnbroker went
on, "and put it in a little box. Don't you take it out till to-morrow
and it'll be stuck fast. Only don't go trying to seal with it, or the
sealing-wax will melt the cement. It'll bring you luck, I shouldn't
wonder."

(It did; and such luck as the kind pawnbroker never dreamed of. But that
comes further on in the story.)

Dickie left the shop without his moonflowers, indeed, but with his
Tinkler now whitely shining, and declared to be "real silver, and mind
you take care of it, my lad," his white cornelian seal carefully packed
in a strong little cardboard box with metal corners. Also a
broken-backed copy of "Ingoldsby Legends" and one of "Mrs. Markham's
English History," which had no back at all. "You must go on trying to
improve your mind," said the pawnbroker fussily. He was very pleased
with himself for having been so kind. "And come back and see me--say
next month."

"I will," said Dickie. "A thousand blessings from a grateful heart. I
will come back. I say, you are good! Thank you, thank you--I will come
back next month, and tell you everything I have learned from the Perru
Sal of your books."

"Perusal," said the pawnbroker--"that's the way to pernounce it.
Good-bye, my man, and next month."

But next month found Dickie in a very different place from the
pawnbroker's shop, and with a very different person from the pawnbroker
who in his rural retirement at Brockley gardened in such a gentlemanly
way.

Dickie went home--his aunt was still out. His books told him that
treasure is best hidden under loose boards, unless of course your house
has a secret panel, which his had not. There was a loose board in his
room, where the man "saw to" the gas. He got it up, and pushed his
treasures as far in as he could--along the rough, crumbly surface of the
lath and plaster.

Not a moment too soon. For before the board was coaxed quite back into
its place the voice of the aunt screamed up.

"Come along down, can't you? I can h