George gave a start of surprise, then picked up the sack from the floor. It had grown quite, quite small, and weighed almost nothing at all. He opened it, and there inside was—what do you think?—a heap of golden-coloured leaves!
He burst out laughing! So this was his wonderful fortune!
Alexander gazed at him, and neither of them said a word for a moment.
"I see," said George. "I think I see. My fortune isn't made of gold at all. Well, I don't mind a little bit. The sack was very heavy to carry at first, and I felt as cross as cross could be. I'll put these leaves on the fire."
"No, no!" cried Alexander. "Don't do that! You must never throw away anything that Tom Tiddler has given you. It might bring you bad luck.... You know, so many people throw away their good fortune, and they never, never get a chance of finding it a second time. And they never find their way back here."
"Do you mean that other people have been here in the house?" asked George.
"No, of course not. This is your house. Every one has his own house here until he—or she—grows up. Then they don't seem to want to come back. They're funny people, these grown-ups. I often wonder whether it's wearing trousers and long skirts that makes such a difference to them."
This was quite a long speech for Alexander, so he put his head down on his paws and fell fast asleep.
George wanted to ask ever so many more questions, but all of a sudden he felt sleepy too, so he climbed the stairs to the dear little bedroom, lay down on the bed, and fell fast asleep.