Bellew had opened his knap-sack, had fished thence cheese, clasp-knife, and a crusty loaf of bread, and, having exerted himself so far, had fallen a thinking or a dreaming, in his characteristic attitude, i.e.:—­on the flat of his back, when he was aware of a crash in the hedge above, and then, of something that hurtled past him, all arms and legs, that rolled over two or three times, and eventually brought up in a sitting posture; and, lifting a lazy head, Bellew observed that it was a boy.  He was a very diminutive boy with a round head covered with coppery curls, a boy who stared at Bellew out of a pair of very round, blue eyes, while he tenderly cherished a knee, and an elbow.  He had been on the brink of tears for a moment, but meeting Bellew’s quizzical gaze, he manfully repressed the weakness, and, lifting the small, and somewhat weather-beaten cap that found a precarious perch at the back of his curly head, he gravely wished Bellew “Good afternoon!”

“Well met, my Lord Chesterfield!” nodded Bellew, returning the salute, “are you hurt?”

“Just a bit—­on the elbow; but my name’s George.”

“Why—­so is mine!” said Bellew.

“Though they call me ‘Georgy-Porgy.’”

“Of course 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.