came by the cemeteries and over the crest of Highgate about midday into view of the greatness of the city again. He turned aside, and sat down in a garden with his back to a house that overlooked all London. He was breathless, and his face was lowering, and now the people no longer crowded upon him as they had done when first he came to London, but lurked in the adjacent garden, and peeped from cautious securities. They knew by now the thing was grimmer than they had thought. "Why can't they lea' me alone?" growled young Caddles. "I mus' eat. Why can't they lea' me alone?"
He sat with a darkling face, gnawing at his knuckles and looking down over London. All the fatigue, worry, perplexity, and impotent wrath of his wanderings was coming to a head in him. "They mean nothing," he whispered. "They mean nothing. And they won't let me alone, and they will get in my way." And again, over and over to himself, "meanin' nothing.
"Ugh! the little people!"
He bit harder at his knuckles and his scowl deepened. "Cuttin' chalk for 'em," he whispered. "And all the world is theirs! I don't come in—anywhere."
Presently with a spasm of sick anger he saw the now familiar form of a policeman astride the garden wall.
"Leave me alone," grunted the giant. "Leave me alone."
"I got to do my duty," said the little policeman, with a face that was white and resolute.
"You leave me alone. I got to live as well as
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