This idea was a risky one to propose, but he felt desperate at the sight of the child's grief.
Bobby raised his eyes for the first time. The tears did not hide the dawn of hope springing up in them.
'I'm old enough,' he said, choking down a sob; 'please take me.'
'It wouldn't do, and we might miss him; he might arrive after you had gone.'
'Me and Nobbles could go and look for him our own selves,' Bobby said very thoughtfully. 'We would just ask and ask till they told us where he was.'
His uncle began to feel uneasy. 'No, that's quite the wrong way about. He must come to you, not you go to him.'
'But,' said Bobby pitifully, 'he never comes, and I'm tireder and tireder of waiting.'
'You go to sleep, and perhaps you'll dream where your father is. Dreams are rummy things, and Nobbles is wanting his sleep, I know.'
Bobby was deposited in bed with his beloved stick, and his eyelids began to droop at once. In a minute or two, worn out with his excitement and consequent depression, he was fast asleep.
His uncle picked up his masquerading attire and left the room muttering, 'I never will play the fool again; it doesn't pay.'