was little more than a whisper:

"It would be fun, wouldn't it, perhaps if I read something, Jeremy?"

Jeremy was a gentleman, although he was only eight. He looked at her
and saw behind the spectacles eyes beseeching his permission.

"Well, it wouldn't be much fun," he said, "but it's all beastly this
afternoon, anyway."

"Can I sit on the window too?" asked Mary.

"Not too close, because it tickles my ear, but you can if you like."

She hurried across to the bookshelf. "There's 'Stumps' and 'Rags and
Tatters,' and 'Engel the Fearless,' and 'Herr Baby' and 'Alice' and-
-"

"'Alice' is best," said Jeremy, sighing. "You know it better than
the others." He curled himself into a corner of the window-seat.
From his position there he had a fine view. Immediately below him
was the garden, white and grey under the grey sky, the broken
fountain standing up like a snow man in the middle of it. The snow
had ceased to fall and a great stillness held the world.

Beyond the little iron gate of the garden that always sneezed
"Tishoo" when you closed it, was the top of Orange Street; then down
the hill on the right was the tower of his father's church; exactly
opposite the gate was the road that led to the Orchards, and on the
right of that was the Polchester High School for Young Ladies, held