And there he found a little boy sitting in the middle of the road, and crying bitterly.
"What are you crying for?" said Tom.
"Because I am not so frightened as I could wish to be."
"Not frightened? You are a queer little chap; but, if you want to be frightened, here goes—Boo!"
"Ah," said the little boy, "that is very kind of you; but I don't feel that it has made any impression."
Tom offered to upset him, punch him, stamp on him, fettle him over the head with a brick, or anything else whatsoever which would give him the slightest comfort.
But he only thanked Tom very civilly, in fine long words which he had heard other folk use, and which, therefore, he thought were fit and proper to use himself; and cried on till his papa and mamma came.
Then Tom came to a very quiet place, called Leaveheavenalone. And there the sun was drawing water out of the sea to make steam-threads, and the wind was twisting them up to make cloud-patterns, till they had worked between them the loveliest wedding veil of Chantilly lace, and hung it up in their own Crystal Palace for any one to buy who could afford it; while the good old sea never grudged, for she knew they would pay her back honestly. So the sun span, and the wind wove, and all went well with the great steam loom; as is likely, considering—and considering— and considering—-
And at last, after innumerable adventures, each more wonderful than the last, Tom saw before him a huge building.
He walked towards it, wondering what it was, and having a strange fancy that he might find Mr. Grimes inside it, till he saw running toward him, and shouting "Stop!" three or four people, who, when they came nearer, were nothing else than policemen's truncheons, running along without legs or arms.