The idle man of wearied mind followed the friends of the street drama to see what happened, forgetful of the College of Surgeons, and finding a new fund of amusement in himself.
Arrived in the neighbouring street, he discovered that the Punch performance had come to an end--like some other dramatic performances of higher pretensions--for want of a paying audience.

He waited at a certain distance, watching the children.

His doubts had done them an injustice.

The boys only said, "Give us a taste." And the liberal little girl rewarded their good conduct.

An equitable and friendly division of the strawberries was made in a quiet corner.
Where--always excepting the case of a miser or a millionaire--is the man to be found who could have returned to the pursuit of his own affairs, under these circumstances, without encouraging the practice of the social virtues by a present of a few pennies?
Ovid was not that man.
Putting back in his breast-pocket the bag in which he was accustomed to carry small coins for small charities, his hand touched something which felt like the envelope of a letter.