The little man had wrapped himself up in his cloak and was sitting quite still. Now he jumped up. "What is your fortune?" he asked George.
"I don't know. No one ever told me—unless, of course, it's money. Father always says he's going to make his fortune some day, and he means money. I should like lots of money."
"Lots of money, eh?"—and the queer little man smiled a queer little smile. "Well, you've come to the right place for that!" and they all burst out laughing.
Then the little man sang in a voice like a shrill tin whistle:
"Here we are on Tom Tiddler's ground,
Picking up gold and silver,"
until the echoes answered: "Gold and silver! Gold and silver!"
George stared at him. "Are you Tom Tiddler?"
The little man bowed low. "At your service! This is my land. Make yourself at home, I beg you," and then sat down again.