om the tremors
of wealth: and now again--

Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer cloud,
Without our special wonder?

--now and again and for about the twentieth time--now again, as he
turned to bend his steps towards Boatbuilder Jago's yard--suddenly
and without warning, as a wave the terror took him that in his
absence some thief or spy had surprised his hoard. Under its urgency
he wheeled right-about and hurried for home, to assure himself that
all was safe.

Such was his haste that in passing the corner of the bridge he
scarcely observed a knot of children gathered thereby, until 'Beida's
voice hailed him and brought him to a halt.

"Mr Nanjivell!"

"Hey! Is that you, Missy?" Nicky-Nan wheeled half-about.

"If you had eyes in your head, you wouldn' be starin' at me," said
'Beida, "but at 'Bert. Look at him--And you, 'Biades, can stand
there an' look up at him so long as you like, provided you don't bust
out cryin' at his altered appearance: no, nor crick your neck in
doin' it, but bear in mind that mother used up the last of the arnica
when you did it last time tryin' to count the buttons up Policeman
Rat-it-all's uniform, an' that if the wind should shift of a sudden
and catch you with your eyes bulgin' out of your head like they'm
doin' at this moment, happen 'twill fix you up comical for life: an'
then instead of your growin' up apprenticed to a butcher, as has been
your constant dream, we'll have to put you into a travellin' show for
a gogglin' May-game, an' that's where your heart will be turnin'
ever, far from the Old Folks at Home. . . . You'll excuse me, Mr
Nanjivell, but the time an' trouble it costs to wean that child's
eyes off anything in the shape of a novelty you'd hardly believe.
. . . Well, what do you say to 'Bert?"

"I'd say," answered Nicky-Nan slowly, contemplating the boy--who wore
a slouch hat, a brown shirt with a loosely tied neckerchief,
dark-blue cut-shorts and stockings that exhibited some three inches
of bare knee--"I'd say, if he came on me sudden, that he was Buffalo
Bill or else Baden Powell, or else the pair rolled into one."

"You wouldn't be far wrong either. He's a Boy Scout, that's what he
is. Walked over to St Martin's this mornin' an' joined up. A kind
lady over there was so took with his appearance that she had to
improve it or die on the spot, out of her own pocket. He's walked
back with his own trousers in a parcel, look