Jeremy was suddenly isolated from them all. His destiny was
peculiar. They were girls, he was a boy. They understood neither his
fears nor his ambitions; he needed terribly a companion. The snow,
shutting them in, laughed at their struggles against monotony. The
nursery clock struck three and they realised that two whole hours
must pass before the next meal. Mary, her nose red from pressing on
the window-pane, her eyes gazing through her huge spectacles
wistfully at Jeremy, longed to suggest that she should read aloud to
him. She knew that he hated it; she pretended to herself that she
did not know.

Jeremy stared desperately at Helen who was sitting, dignified and
collected, in the wicker chair hemming a minute handkerchief.

"We might play Pirates," Jeremy said with a little cough, the better
to secure her attention. There was no answer.

"Or there's the hut in the wood--if anyone likes it better," he
added politely. He did not know what was the matter. Had the Jampot
not told him about school he would at this very moment be playing
most happily with his village. It spread out there before him on the
nursery floor, the Noah family engaged upon tea in the orchard, the
butcher staring with fixed gaze from the door of his shop, three
cows and a sheep absorbed in the architecture of the church.

He sighed, then said again: "Perhaps Pirates would be better."

Still Helen did not reply. He abandoned the attempted control of his
passions.