"Not 'arf!" said Dickie, got up, and went in.
"Come to yourself, eh?" sneered the aunt. "You mind, and let it be the last time you come your games with me, my beauty. You and your tantrums!"
Dickie said what it was necessary to say, and got back to the "garden."
"She says she ain't got no time to waste, an' if you 'ave she don't care what you does with it."
"There's a dirty mug you've got on you," said the Man Next Door, leaning over to give Dickie's face a rub with a handkerchief hardly cleaner. "Now I'll come over and make a start." He threw his leg over the fence. "You just peg about an' be busy pickin' up all them fancy articles, and nex' time yer aunt goes to Buckingham Palace for the day we'll have a bonfire."
"Fifth o' November?" said Dickie, sitting down and beginning to draw to himself the rubbish that covered the ground.
"Fifth of anything you like, so long as she ain't about," said he, driving in the spade. "'Ard as any old doorstep it is. Never mind, we'll turn it over, and we'll get some little seedses and some little plantses and we shan't know ourselves."
"I got a 'apenny," said Dickie.
"Well, I'll put one to it, and you leg 'long and buy seedses. That's wot you do."
Dickie went. He went slowly, because he was lame. And he was lame because his "aunt" had dropped him when he was a baby. She was
