He fell asleep among the straw, fingering the clasp-knife in his pocket, and thinking how smartly he would cut the string when the time came.
And he slept for a very long time. Such a long time that when he did wake up there was no longer any need to cut the string of the hamper. Some one else had done that, and the lid of the basket was open, and three or four faces looked down at Dickie, and a girl's voice said—
"Why, it's a little boy! And a crutch—oh dear!" Dickie sat up. The little crutch, which was lying corner-wise above him in the hamper, jerked out and rattled on the floor.
"Well, I never did—never!" said another voice. "Come out, dearie; don't be frightened."
"How kind people are!" Dickie thought, and reached his hands to slender white hands that were held out to him. A lady in black—her figure was as slender as her hands—drew him up, put her arms round him, and lifted him on to a black bentwood chair.
His eyes, turning swiftly here and there, showed him that he was in a shop—a shop full of flowers and fruit.
"Mr. Rosenberg," said the slender lady—"oh, do come here, please! This extra hamper"
A dark, handsome, big-nosed man came towards them.
"It's a dear little boy," said the slender lady, who had a pale, kind face, dark eyes, and very red lips.
