"And you are going on to—?"
"Always the same place."
"Which is—?"
"The end." He said it in a rumbling voice that seemed to issue from a pocket of the torn old coat rather than from his bearded mouth.
"Oh, dear," sighed Judy, "that is a very long way indeed. But, of course, you never get tired out?" Her eyes were brimmed with admiration.
He shrugged his great loose shoulders. It was odd how there seemed to be another thing within all that baggy clothing and behind the hair. The shaggy exterior covered a slimmer thing that was happy, laughing, dancing to break out. "Not tired out," he said, "a bit sleepy sometimes, p'r'aps." He glanced round him carelessly, his strange eyes resting finally on Judy's face. "But there's lots of beds about," he explained to her, "once you know how to make 'em."
"Yes," the child murmured, with a kind of soft applause, "of course there must be."
"And those wot sleeps in ditches dreams the sweetest—that I know."
"They must," agreed Judy, as though grass and dock leaves were familiar to her. "And you get up when you're ready, don't you?"
"That's it," replied the wanderer. "Only you always are ready."