you pounding about up there. Come along down and fetch me a ha'porth o' wood—I can't get the kettle to boil without a fire, can I?"
When Dickie came down his aunt slightly slapped him, and he took the halfpenny and limped off obediently.
It was a very long time indeed before he came back. Because before he got to the shop with no window to it, but only shutters that were put up at night, where the wood and coal were sold, he saw a Punch and Judy show. He had never seen one before, and it interested him extremely. He longed to see it unpack itself and display its wonders, and he followed it through more streets than he knew; and when he found that it was not going to unpack at all, but was just going home to its bed in an old coach-house, he remembered the firewood; and the halfpenny clutched tight and close in his hand seemed to reproach him warmly.
He looked about him, and knew that he did not at all know where he was. There was a tall, thin, ragged man lounging against a stable door in the yard where the Punch and Judy show lived. He took his clay pipe out of his mouth to say—
"What's up, matey? Lost your way?"
Dickie explained.
"It's Lavender Terrace where I live," he ended—"Lavender Terrace, Rosemary Street, Deptford."
"I'm going that way myself," said the man, getting away from the wall. "We'll go back
