with such nonsense! If they read their Bibles more!"

Nevertheless, Hugh continued his dreaming. He dreamt of the moor, of
the pirates, of the cobbled street in Borhaze, of the cry of the Trezent
Bell, of the deep lanes and the smell of the flowers in them, of making
five hundred not out at cricket, of doing a problem in Euclid to Mr.
Lasher's satisfaction, of having a collar at the end of the week as
clean as it had been at the beginning, of discovering the way to make a
straight parting in the hair, of not wriggling in bed when Mrs. Lasher
kissed him at night, of many, many other things.

He was at this time a very lonely boy. Until Mr. Pidgen paid his visit
he was most remarkably lonely. After that visit he was never lonely
again.


III

Mr. Pidgen came on a visit to the vicarage three days before Christmas.
Hugh Seymour saw him first from the garden. Mr. Pidgen was standing at
the window of Mr. Lasher's study; he was staring in front of him at the
sheets of light that flashed and darkened and flashed again across the
lawn, at the green cluster of holly-berries by the drive-gate, at the
few flakes of snow that fell, lazily, carelessly, as though they were
trying to decide whether they would make a grand affair of it or not,
and perhaps at the small, grubby boy who was looking at him with one eye
and trying to learn the Collect for the day (it was Sunday) with the
other. Hugh had never before seen any one in the least like Mr. Pidgen.
He was short and round, and his head was covered with tight little
curls. His cheeks were chubby and red and his nose small, his mouth also