The Money Moon | Page 6

they do," nodded Bellew, "they used to call me the same,
once upon a time,--
Georgy Porgy, pudding and pie Kissed the girls, and made them cry,
though I never did anything of the kind,--one doesn't do that sort of
thing when one is young,--and wise, that comes later, and brings its
own care, and--er--heart-break." Here Bellew sighed, and hacked a
piece from the loaf with the clasp-knife. "Are you hungry, Georgy
Porgy?" he enquired, glancing up at the boy who had risen, and was
removing some of the soil and dust from his small person with his cap.
"Yes I am."
"Then here is bread, and cheese, and bottled stout,--so fall to, good
comrade."
"Thank you, but I've got a piece of bread an' jam in my bundle,--"
"Bundle?"
"I dropped it as I came through the hedge, I'll get it," and as he spoke,
he turned, and, climbing up the bank, presently came back with a very
small bundle that dangled from the end of a very long stick, and seating
himself beside Bellew, he proceeded to open it. There, sure enough,
was the bread and jam in question, seemingly a little the worse for wear
and tear, for Bellew observed various articles adhering to it, amongst
other things, a battered penknife, and a top. These, however, were
readily removed, and Georgy Porgy fell to with excellent appetite.
"And pray," enquired Bellew, after they had munched silently together,
some while, "pray where might you be going?"
"I don't know yet," answered Georgy Porgy with a shake of his curls.

"Good again!" exclaimed Bellew, "neither do I."
"Though I've been thinking of Africa," continued his diminutive
companion, turning the remain of the bread and jam over and over
thoughtfully.
"Africa!" repeated Bellew, staring, "that's quite a goodish step from
here."
"Yes," sighed Georgy Porgy, "but, you see, there's gold there, oh, lots
of it! they dig it out of the ground with shovels, you know. Old Adam
told me all 'bout it; an' it's gold I'm looking for, you see, I'm trying to
find a fortune."
"I--er--beg your pardon--?" said Bellew.
"Money, you know," explained Georgy, Porgy with a patient sigh,
"pounds, an' shillings, an' bank-notes--in a sack if I can get them."
"And what does such a very small Georgy Porgy want so much money
for?"
"Well, it's for my Auntie, you know, so she won't have to sell her house,
an' go away from Dapplemere. She was telling me, last night, when I
was in bed,--she always comes to tuck me up, you know, an' she told
me she was 'fraid we'd have to sell Dapplemere an' go to live
somewhere else. So I asked why, an' she said ''cause she hadn't any
money,' an' 'Oh Georgy!' she said, 'oh Georgy, if we could only find
enough money to pay off the--the--'"
"Mortgage?" suggested Bellew, at a venture.
"Yes,--that's it, but how did you know?"
"Never mind how, go on with your tale, Georgy Porgy."
"'If--we could only find enough money, or somebody would leave us a
fortune,' she said,--an' she was crying too, 'cause I felt a tear fall on me,
you know. So this morning I got up, awful' early, an' made myself a

bundle on a stick,--like Dick Whittington had when he left home, an' I
started off to find a fortune."
"I see," nodded Bellew.
"But I haven't found anything--yet," said Georgy Porgy, with a long
sigh, "I s'pose money takes a lot of looking for, doesn't it?"
"Sometimes," Bellew answered. "And do you live alone with your
Auntie then, Georgy Porgy?"
"Yes;--most boys live with their mothers, but that's where I'm different,
I don't need one 'cause I've got my Auntie Anthea."
"Anthea!" repeated Bellew, thoughtfully. Hereupon they fell silent,
Bellew watching the smoke curl up from his pipe into the warm, still
air, and Georgy Porgy watching him with very thoughtful eyes, and a
somewhat troubled brow, as if turning over some weighty matter in his
mind; at last, he spoke:
"Please," said he, with a sudden diffidence, "where do you live?"
"Live," repeated Bellew, smiling, "under my hat,--here, there, and
everywhere, which means--nowhere in particular."
"But I--I mean--where is your home?"
"My home," said Bellew, exhaling a great cloud of smoke, "my home
lies beyond the 'bounding billow."
"That sounds an awful' long way off."
"It is an awful' long way off."
"An' where do you sleep while--while you're here?"
"Anywhere they'll let me. To-night I shall sleep at some inn, I suppose,
if I can find one, if not,--under a hedge, or hay-rick."

"Oh!--haven't you got any home of your own, then,--here?"
"No."
"And--you're not going home just yet,--I mean across the 'bounding
billow?'"
"Not yet."
"Then--please--" the small boy's voice was suddenly tremulous and
eager, and he laid a little, grimy