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,