"Well?"

Hugh dropped his voice.

"I understood all that you meant. I'd like to read your books if I may.
We haven't any in the house."

"Bless my soul! Here's some one wants to read my books!" Mr. Pidgen was
undoubtedly pleased. "I'll send you some. I'll send you them all!"

Hugh gasped with pleasure. "I'll read them all, however many there
are!" he said excitedly. "Every word."

"Well," said Mr. Pidgen, "that's more than any one else has ever done."

"I'd rather be with you," said the boy very confidently, "than Mr. Lasher.
I'd rather write stories than preach sermons that no one wants to listen
to." Then more timidly he continued: "I know what you meant about the man
who comes when you're a baby. I remember him quite well, but I never can
say anything because they'd say I was silly. Sometimes I think he's still
hanging round only he doesn't come to the vicarage much. He doesn't like
Mr. Lasher much, I expect. But I _do_ remember him. He had a beard and I
used to think it funny the nurse didn't see him. That was before we went
to Ceylon, you know, we used to live in Polchester then. When it was
nearly dark and not quite he'd be there. I forgot about him in Ceylon, but
since I've been here I've wondered ... it's sometimes like some one
whispering to you and you know if you turn round he won't be there, but he
_is_ there all the same. I made twenty-five last summer against
Porthington Grammar; they're not much good _really_, and it was our
second eleven, and I was nearly out second ball; anyway I made