"The street looks pretty good," said Freddie, "after being away so long. Would you rather sit here on the pavement than do anything else?"
"I believe you, son. I'd rather sit here on a sunny
day with a pipe and a newspaper than have all the treasure of the Incas."
Freddie was glad to hear that the Churchwarden did not regret the loss of his share of the treasure, though whether Captain Lingo belonged to the Incas he did not know.
"I don't care anything about the treasure myself," said he. "I'm too glad to be well again and back in our own street."
"I'm glad I'm here myself, son. And if you happen to see Toby Littleback this morning, tell him I'm alive and resting well, considering."
"Yes, sir," said Freddie, and continued his stroll.
The Old Tobacco Shop, when he arrived, looked as it had looked on the fateful day when he had last seen it. He paused before the door, and gazed at Mr. Punch. He half expected the little man to step down and shake hands with him; but Mr. Punch did not move a muscle; he did not even look at Freddie; he held out in one hand a packet of black cigars, and his wooden face, if it expressed anything at all, showed the great calm which he must have felt when he got back to his little perch. Freddie looked up at the clock in the tower, with some thought that the hands might be together; but it was a quarter past ten, and anyway Mr. Punch's father was probably by this time far away in some other of his store-rooms about the world.
Freddie entered the shop. Mr. Toby was behind the counter, opening a package of tobacco.
"Aha! young feller!" he cried. "Back again, sure enough! Blamed if it don't seem as if you'd been away from here for a year. And a mighty sick chap you were, that's a fact. I reckon we all thought you were going to die, maybe; by crackey, I never seen anyone so pale in my life. Are you all right now?"