“And she was—­crying, you say!” demanded Bellew again, his gaze still far away.

“Yes.”

“You are quite sure you saw the—­tears, my Porges?”

“Oh yes! an’ there was one on her nose, too,—­a big one, that shone awful’ bright,—­twinkled, you know.”

“And she said it was only a headache, did she?”

“Yes, but that meant money,—­money always makes her head ache, lately.  Oh Uncle Porges!—­I s’pose people do find fortunes, sometimes, don’t they?”

“Why yes, to be sure they do.”

“Then I wish I knew where they looked for them,” said he with a very big sigh indeed, “I’ve hunted an’ hunted in all the attics, an’ the cupboards, an’ under hedges, an’ in ditches, an’ prayed, an’ prayed, you know,—­every night.”

“Then, of course, you’ll be answered, my Porges.”

“Do you really s’pose I shall be answered?  You see it’s such an awful’ long way for one small prayer to have to go,—­from here to heaven.  An’ there’s clouds that get in the way; an’ I’m ’fraid my prayers aren’t quite big, or heavy enough, an’ get lost, an’ blown away in the wind.”

“No, my Porges,” said Bellew, drawing his arm about the small disconsolate figure, “you may depend upon it that your prayers fly straight up into heaven, and that neither the clouds, nor the wind can come between, or blow them away.  So just keep on praying, old chap, and when the time is ripe, they’ll be answered, never fear.”

“Answered?—­Do you mean,—­oh Uncle Porges!—­do you mean—­the Money Moon?” The small hand upon Bellew’s arm, quivered, and his voice trembled with eagerness.

“Why yes, to be sure,—­the Money Moon, my Porges,—­it’s bound to come, one of these fine nights.”

“Ah!—­but when,—­oh! when will the Money Moon ever come?”

“Well, I can’t be quite sure, but I rather fancy, from the look of things, my Porges, that it will be pretty soon.”

“Oh, I do hope so!—­for her sake, an’ my sake.  You see, she may go getting herself married to Mr. Cassilis, if something doesn’t happen soon, an’ I shouldn’t like that, you know.”

“Neither should I, my Porges.  But what makes you think so?”

“Why he’s always bothering her, an’ asking her to, you see.  She always says ‘No’ a course, but—­one of these fine days, I’m ’fraid she’ll say ’Yes’—­accidentally, you know.”

“Heaven forbid, nephew!”

“Does that mean you hope not?”

“Indeed yes.”

“Then I say heaven forbid, too,—­’cause I don’t think she’d ever be happy in Mr. Cassilis’s great, big house.  An’ I shouldn’t either.”

“Why, of course not!”

“You never go about asking people to marry you, do you Uncle Porges!”

“Well, it could hardly be called a confirmed habit of mine.”

“That’s one of the things I like about you so,—­all the time you’ve been here you haven’t asked my Auntie Anthea once, have you?”