"My _dear_ Pidgen," said Mr. Lasher, "I haven't understood a word."

Pidgen shook his head. "You're right. That's just what's the matter with
me. I can't even put what I see plainly." He sighed deeply. "I've
failed. There's no doubt about it. But, although I know that, I've had a
happy life. That's the funny part of it. I've enjoyed it more than you
ever will, Lasher. At least, I'm never lonely. I like my food, too, and
one's head's always full of jolly ideas, if only they seemed jolly to
other people."

"Upon my word, Pidgen," said Mr. Lasher. At this moment Mrs. Lasher
opened the door.

"Well, well. Fancy! Sitting over the fire talking! Oh, you men! Tea!
tea! Tea, Will! Fancy talking all the afternoon! Well!"

No one had noticed Hugh. He, however, had understood Mr. Pidgen better
than Mr. Lasher did.


V

This conversation aroused in Hugh, for various reasons, the greatest
possible excitement. He would have liked to have asked Mr. Pidgen many
questions. Christmas Day came, and a beautiful day enthroned it: a pale
blue sky, faint and clear, was a background to misty little clouds that
hovered, then fled and disappeared, and from these flakes of snow fell
now and then across the shining sunlight. Early in the winter afternoon
a moon like an orange feather sailed into the sky as the lower stretches
of blue changed into saffron and gold. Trees and hills and woods were