following incident, and indeed the whole of this book, has to do. Hugh
Seymour could not, at the period of which I write, be called an
attractive child; he was not even "interesting" or "unusual." He was
very minutely made, with bones so brittle that it seemed that, at any
moment, he might crack and splinter into sharp little pieces; and I am
afraid that no one would have minded very greatly had this occurred. But
although, he was so thin his face had a white and overhanging
appearance, his cheeks being pale and puffy and his under-lip jutted
forward in front of projecting teeth--he was known as the "White Rabbit"
by his schoolfellows. He was not, however, so ugly as this appearance
would apparently convey, for his large, grey eyes, soft and even, at
times agreeably humorous, were pleasant and cheerful.

During these years when he knew Mr. Lasher he was undoubtedly
unfortunate. He was shortsighted, but no one had, as yet, discovered
this, and he was, therefore, blamed for much clumsiness that he could
not prevent and for a good deal of sensitiveness that came quite simply
from his eagerness to do what he was told and his inability to see his
way to do it. He was not, at this time, easy with strangers and seemed
to them both conceited and awkward. Conceit was far from him--he was, in
fact, amazed at so feeble a creature as himself!--but awkward he was,
and very often greedy, selfish, impetuous, untruthful and even cruel: he
was nearly always dirty, and attributed this to the evil wishes of some
malign fairy who flung mud upon him, dropped him into puddles and
covered him with ink simply for the fun of the thing!

He did not, at this time, care very greatly for reading; he told himself
stories--long stories with enormous families in them, trains of
elephants, ropes and ropes of pearls, towers of ivory, peacocks, and
strange meals of saffron buns, roast chicken, and gingerbread. His