colours could rarely be found at drawing time. Bunks had the
violet when Groups wanted it, and so on. But still, this was
often the happiest hour of the day. Gissing drew amazing trains,
elephants, ships, and rainbows, with the spectrum of colours
correctly arranged and blended. The children specially loved his
landscapes, which were opulently tinted and magnificent in long
perspectives. He found himself always colouring the far horizons
a pale and haunting blue.

He was meditating these things when a shrill yammer recalled him
to the house.



CHAPTER FOUR

In this warm summer weather Gissing slept on a little outdoor
balcony that opened off the nursery. The world, rolling in her
majestic seaway, heeled her gunwale slowly into the trough of
space. Disked upon this bulwark, the sun rose, and promptly
Gissing woke. The poplars flittered in a cool stir. Beyond the
tadpole pond, through a notch in the landscape, he could see the
far darkness of the hills. That fringe of woods was a railing
that kept the sky from flooding over the earth.

The level sun, warily peering over the edge like a cautious
marksman, fired golden volleys unerringly at him. At once Gissing
was aware and watchful. Brief truce was over: the hopeless war
with Time began anew.