If any one arsts you if you ever see 'im, you
never set eyes on 'im in all your born--not to remember 'im. Might a
passed 'im in a crowd--see?"

"Yuss," said Dickie again.

"'Tasn't been 'arf a panto neither! Us two on the road," Mr. Beale went
on.

"Not 'arf!"

"Well, now we're a-goin' in the train like dooks--an' after that we're
a-goin' to 'ave a rare old beano. I give you _my_ word!"

Dickie was full of questions, but Mr. Beale had no answers for them.
"You jes' wait;" "hold on a bit;" "them as lives longest sees
most"--these were the sort of remarks which were all that Dickie could
get out of him.

It was not the next day, which was a Saturday, that they took the train
like dukes. Nor was it Sunday, on which they took a rest and washed
their shirts, according to Mr. Beale's rule of life.

They took the train on Monday, and it landed them in a very bright town
by the sea. Its pavements were of red brick and its houses of white
stone, and its bow-windows and balconies were green, and Dickie thought
it was the prettiest town in the world. They did not stay there, but
walked out across the downs, where the skylarks were singing, and on a
dip of the downs came upon great stone walls and towers very strong and
gray.

"What's that there?" said Dickie.

"It's a carstle--like wot the King's got at Windsor."

"Is it a king as lives 'ere, then?" Dickie asked.

"No! Nobody don't live 'ere, mate," said Mr. Beale. "It's a ruin, this
is. Only howls and rats lives in ruins."

"Did any one ever live in it?"

"I shouldn't wonder," said Mr. Beale indifferently. "Yes, course they
must 'ave, come to think of it. But you learned all that at school. It's
what they call 'ist'ry."

Dickie, after some reflection, said, "D'jever 'ear of Here Ward?"

"I knowed a Jake Ward wunst."

"Here Ward the Wake. He ain't a bloke you'd know--_'e's_ in 'istry. Tell
you if you like."

The tale of Hereward the Wake lasted till the jolting perambulator came
to anchor in a hollow place among thick furze bushes. The bare, thick
stems of the furze held it up like a roof over their heads as they sat.
It was like a little furze house.

Next morning Mr. Beale shaved, a thing he had not done since they left
London. Dickie held the mug and the soap. It was great fun, and,
afterwards, Mr. Beale looked quite different. That was great fun too.
And he got quite a different set of clothes out of his bundles, and put
them on. And that was the gre