never come.  So now, dear Lord, I’m going to Africa, an’ I want you to please take care of my Auntie Anthea till I come back.  Sometimes I’m ’fraid my prayers can’t quite manage to get up to you ‘cause of the clouds, an’ wind, but to-night there isn’t any, so, if they do reach you, please—­Oh! please let me find the fortune, and, if you don’t mind, let—­him come back to me, dear Lord,—­I mean my Uncle Porges, you know.  An’ now—­that’s all, dear Lord, so Amen!”

As the prayer ended Bellew stole back, and coming to the gate of the rick-yard, leaned there waiting.  And, presently, as he watched, he saw a small figure emerge from behind the big hay-stack and come striding manfully toward him, his bundle upon his shoulder, and with the moon bright in his curls.

But, all at once, Small Porges saw him and stopped, and the stick and bundle fell to the ground and lay neglected.

“Why—­my Porges!” said Bellew, a trifle huskily, perhaps, “why, Shipmate!” and he held out his hands.  Then Small Porges uttered a cry, and came running, and next moment Big Porges had him in his arms.

“Oh, Uncle Porges!—­then you—­have come back to me!”

“Aye, aye, Shipmate.”

“Why, then—­my prayers did reach!”

“Why, of course,—­prayers always reach, my Porges.”

“Then, oh!—­do you s’pose I shall find the fortune, too?”

“Not a doubt of it,—­just look at the moon!”

“The—­moon?”

“Why, haven’t you noticed how—­er—­peculiar it is to-night?”

“Peculiar?” repeated Small Porges breathlessly, turning to look at it.

“Why, yes, my Porges,—­big, you know, and—­er—­yellow,—­like—­er—­like a very large sovereign.”

“Do you mean—­Oh! do you mean—­it’s—­the—­” But here Small Porges choked suddenly, and could only look his question.

“The Money Moon?—­Oh yes—­there she is at last, my Porges!  Take a good look at her, I don’t suppose we shall ever see another.”

Small Porges stood very still, and gazed up at the moon’s broad, yellow disc, and, as he looked the tears welled up in his eyes again, and a great sob broke from him.

“I’m so—­glad!” he whispered.  “So—­awful—­glad!” Then, suddenly, he dashed away his tears and slipped his small, trembling hand into Bellew’s.

“Quick, Uncle Porges!” said he, “Mr. Grimes is coming to-night, you know—­an’ we must find the money in time.  Where shall we look first?”

“Well, I guess the orchard will do—­to start with.”

“Then let’s go—­now.”

“But we shall need a couple of spades, Shipmate.”

“Oh!—­must we dig?”

“Yes,—­I fancy that’s a—­er—­digging moon, my Porges, from the look of it.  Ah! there’s a spade, nice and handy, you take that and I’ll—­er—­I’ll manage with this pitchfork.”

“But you can’t dig with a—­”

“Oh! well—­you can do the digging, and I’ll just—­er—­prod, you know.  Ready?—­then heave ahead, Shipmate.”