chimneys, and heard the church-bells, the big drum, and the confused
mutterings and hubbub of the fair. The sun--for the morning was
still fresh--did not yet pierce to the bottom of the valley, but fell
on the hillside opposite, where cottage-gardens in parallel strips
climbed up from the town to the moorland beyond.

"What is that?" asked the goose-driver, touching my arm and pointing
to a dazzling spot on the slope opposite.

"That's the sun on the windows of Gardener Tonken's glass-house."

"Eh?--does he live there?"

"He's dead, and the garden's 'to let;' you can just see the board
from here. But he didn't live there, of course. People don't live
in glass-houses; only plants."

"That's a pity, little boy, for their souls' sakes. It reminds me of
a story--by the way, do you know Latin? No? Well, listen to this:--
if I can sell my geese to-day, perhaps I will hire that glass-house,
and you shall come there on half holidays, and learn Latin. Now run
ahead and spend your money."

I was glad to escape, and in the bustle of the fair quickly forgot my
friend. But late in the afternoon, as I had my eyes glued to a
peep-show, I heard a voice behind me cry "Little boy!" and turning,
saw him again. He was without his geese.

"I have sold them," he said, "for 5 pounds; and I have taken the
glass-house. The rent is only 3 pounds a year, and I shan't live