eddie did not know why he should be called poor, but he was still
tired from the adventurous life he had recently lived, and he was very
glad to remain in bed all day.

The next morning, after his father had said good-bye for the day, his
mother allowed him to get up, and a little later to go out into the
sunshine. He strolled down the street, enjoying the familiar sights
after his long absence. He found his legs a little weak; he must have
been very ill indeed at the King's palace, and he could not expect to
get over it in one day. He crossed the street-car track, and on the
pavement before the church he saw a well-known figure.

The Churchwarden was sitting in his chair tilted back against the wall,
smoking a long pipe and reading a newspaper. As Freddie approached he
put down his paper and looked at him over his spectacles.

"Good morning," said he. "I'm glad to see you back again. I hear you've
been away." And he winked his eye at Freddie in a very knowing manner.

"Yes, sir," said Freddie. "I guess I must have been pretty sick."

"No doubt about it, my son. But of course I knew all the time you'd pull
through."

Freddie did not believe it for a moment; obviously the Churchwarden was
bragging.

"The street looks pretty good," said Freddie, "after being away so long.
Would you rather sit here on the pavement than do anything else?"

"I believe you, son. I'd rather sit here on a sunny day with a pipe and
a newspaper than have all the treasure of the Incas."

Freddie was glad to hear that the Churchwarden did not regret the loss
of his share of the treasure, though whether Captain Lingo belonged to
the Incas he did not know.

"I don't care anything about the treasure myself," said he. "I'm too
glad to be well again and back in our own street."

"I'm glad I'm here myself, son. And if you happen to see Toby Littleback
this morning, tell him I'm alive and resting well, considering."

"Yes, sir," said Freddie, and continued his stroll.

The Old Tobacco Shop, when he arrived, looked as it had looked on the
fateful day when he had last seen it. He paused before the door, and
gazed at Mr. Punch. He half expected the little man to step down and
shake hands with him; but Mr. Punch did not move a muscle; he did not
even look at Freddie; he held out in one hand a packet of black cigars,
and his wooden face, if it expressed anything at all, showed the great
calm which he must have felt when he got back to his little