who took the road with a dirty tramp for father, and lay in the bed with green curtains.
"Was thy friend well, in thy dream?" the nurse asked.
"Yes, oh, yes," said Dickie, "and I carved boxes in my dream, and sold them, and I want to learn a lot more things, so that when I go back again—I mean when I dream that dream again—I shall be able to earn more money."
"'Tis shame that one of thy name should have to work for money," said the nurse.
"It isn't my name there," said Dickie; "and old Sebastian told me every one ought to do some duty to his country, or he wasn't worth his meat and ale. And you don't know how good it is having money that you've earned yourself."
"I ought to," she said; "I've earned mine long enough. Now haste and dress—and then breakfast and thy fencing lesson."
When the fencing lesson was over, Dickie hesitated. He wanted, of course, to hurry off to Sebastian and to go on learning how to make a galleon. But also he wanted to learn some trade that he could teach Beale at Deptford, and he knew, quite as surely as any master craftsman could have known it, that nothing which required delicate handling, such as wood-carving or the making of toy boats, could ever be mastered by Beale. But Beale was certainly fond of dogs. Dickie remembered how little True had cuddled up to him and nestled inside bis coat when he lay down to sleep under the
