VIII

Years passed and Hugh Seymour grew up. I do not wish here to say much
more about him. It happened that when he was twenty-four his work
compelled him to live in that Square in London known as March Square (it
will be very carefully described in a minute). Here he lived for five
years, and, during that time, he was happy enough to gain the intimacy
and confidence of some of the children who played in the Gardens there.
They trusted him and told him more than they told many people. He had
never forgotten Mr. Pidgen; that walk, that vision of the Scarecrow,
stood, as such childish things will, for a landmark in his history. He
came to believe that those experiences that he knew, in his own life, to
be true, were true also for some others. That's as it may be. I can only
say that Barbara and Angelina, Bim and even Sarah Trefusis were his
friends. I daresay his theory is all wrong.

I can only say that I _know_ that they were his friends; perhaps, after
all, the Scarecrow _is_ shining somewhere in golden armour. Perhaps,
after all, one need not be so lonely as one often fancies that one is.




CHAPTER I

HENRY FITZGEORGE STRETHER