It seemed to him that these bright beings on the stage had broken through the barriers, had stepped beyond the flaming ramparts, and were happy.  Their horseplay, at which George laughed so immoderately, called to Taffy to come and be happy, too; and when Jack the Giant-killer changed to Jack in the Beanstalk, and when in the Transformation Scene a real beanstalk grew and unfolded its leaves, and each leaf revealed a fairy seated, with the limelight flashing on star and jewelled wand, the longing became unbearable.  The scene passed in a minute.  The clown and pantaloon came on, and presently Sir Harry saw Taffy’s shoulders shaking, and set it down to laughter at the harlequinade.  He could not see the child’s face.

But, perhaps, the queerest event of the evening (when Taffy came to review his recollections) was this:  He must have fallen into a stupor on leaving the theatre, for when he awoke he found himself on a couch in a gas-lit room, with George beside him, and Sir Harry was shaking him by the collar, and saying, “God bless the children, I thought they were in bed hours ago!” A man—­the same who had talked about racehorses that afternoon—­was standing by the table, on which a quantity of cards lay scattered among the drinking-glasses; and he laughed at this, and his laugh sounded just like the rustling of paper.  “It’s all very well—­” began Sir Harry, but checked himself and lit a candle, and led the two boys off shivering to bed.

The next morning, too, had its surprises.  To begin with, Sir Harry announced at breakfast that he must go and buy a horse.  He might be an hour or two over the business, and meanwhile the boys had better go out into the town and enjoy themselves.  Perhaps a sovereign apiece might help them.

Taffy, who had never in his life possessed more than a shilling, was staring at the gold piece in his hand, when the door opened, and Sir Harry’s horse-racing friend came in to breakfast and nodded “Good-morning.”

“Pity you’re leaving to-day,” he said, as he took his seat at a table hard by them.

“My revenge must wait,” Sir Harry answered.

It seemed a cold-blooded thing to be said so carelessly.  Taffy wondered if Sir Harry’s search for a horse had anything to do with this revenge, and the notion haunted him in the intervals of his morning’s shopping.

But how to lay out his sovereign?  That was the first question.  George, who within ten minutes had settled his own problem by purchasing a doubtful fox-terrier of the Boots of the hotel, saw no difficulty.  The Boots had another pup for sale—­one of the same litter.

“But I want something for mother, and the others—­and Honoria.”

“Botheration!  I’d forgotten Honoria, and now the money’s gone! 
 Never mind; she can have my pup.”

“Oh!” said Taffy ruefully.  “Then she won’t think much of my present.”

“Yes, she will.  Suppose you buy a collar for him—­you can get one for five shillings.”