And yet--for Roy, it was not the same loveliness. Aunt Jane's repeated
threat of school brooded over his sensitive spirit, like the
thundercloud in the wood that was the colour of spilled ink. And the
Boy-of-ten--a potential enemy--was coming to tea....

Yet this morning he had felt so beautifully sure that nothing could go
wrong on a day like this! It was his first lesson, and not by any means
his last, that Fate--unmoved by 'light of smiles or tears'--is no
respecter of profound convictions or of beautiful days.




CHAPTER III.

"Man am I grown; a man's work I must do."
--TENNYSON.


Tara was right. The Boy-of-ten (Roy persistently ignored the half) was
rather a large boy: also rather lumpy. He had little eyes and freckles
and what Christine called a "turnip nose." He wore a very new school
blazer and real cricket trousers, with a flannel shirt and school tie
that gave Roy's tussore shirt and soft brown bow almost a girlish air.
Something in his manner and the way he aired his school slang, made
Roy--who never shone with strangers--feel "miles younger," which did not
help to put him at ease.

His name was Joe Bradley. He had been in India till he was nearly eight;