“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?”