He was lost in such considerations when the Jampot inquired of him
the way that their walk should take--it was his choice because it
was his Birthday. He had no choice. There was one walk that far
exceeded all others in glory, straight down Orange Street, straight
again through the Market, past the Assembly Rooms and the Town Hall,
past the flower and fruit stalls, and the old banana woman under the
green umbrella and the toy stall with coloured balloons, the china
dogs and the nodding donkeys, up the High Street, into the cobble-
stones of the Close, whence one could look down, between the houses
on to the orchards, round the Cathedral with the meadows, Pol Meads
sloping down to the river, so through Orchard Lane into Orange
Street once again.

Such a walk combined every magic and delight known to the heart of
man, but it was not generally allowed, because Jeremy would drag
past the shops, the stalls in the Market Place and the walk behind
the Cathedral, whence one might sometimes see boats on the river,
sheep and cows in the meads, and, in their proper season, delight of
delights--lambs.

They set out. . .

Thirty years ago the winter weather in Polchester was wonderful.
Now, of course, there are no hard winters, no frost, no snow, no
waits, no snowmen, and no skating on the Pol. Then there were all
those things. To-day was of a hard, glittering frost; the sun, like
a round, red lacquer tray, fell heavily, slowly through a faint pale
sky that was not strong enough to sustain it. The air had the cold,
sweet twang of peppermints in the throat. Polchester was a painted
town upon a blue screen, the Cathedral towers purple against the