"Ho!" said the drug-seller, with a world of meaning.

"But if," she went on, "it is worth so much as you say, there must be
some mistake. Give it back to me, please. I am sorry for troubling
you." She took a small, round parcel from her pocket, laid it on the
counter, and held out her hand for the coin.

The drug-seller eyed her. "There must be some mistake, I guess," said
he, as he gave back the gold piece. "No, and you can take up your
packet too; I don't grudge two-pennyworth of salve. But wait a moment
while I serve this small customer, for I want a word with you
later. . . . Well, and what can I do for you, young gentleman?" he
asked, turning to Dicky.

Dicky advanced to the shop-board, and as he did so the girl turned and
recognised him with a faint, very shy smile.

"If you please," he said politely, "I want change for this--if you can
spare it."

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the man, staring. "What, _another?_"

"The bird-seller up the road had no change about him. And--and, if you
please," went on Dick hardily, with a glance at the girl, "she hurt her
hands putting out a fire just now. I expect my father gave her the
money for that. But she must have burnt her hands _dreffully!_"--Dicky
had not quite outgrown his infantile lisp--"and if she's come for stuff
to put on them, please I want to pay for it."

"But I don't want you to," put in the girl, still hesitating by the