 Poetic dedication of Jeremy and Hamlet, a chronicle of certain incidents in the lives of a boy, a dog, and a country town. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recording are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by David Wales. Jeremy and Hamlet, a chronicle of certain incidents in the lives of a boy, a dog, and a country town. By Hugh Walpole, poetic dedication, to my father and mother from their devoted friend, their son. It is not growing like a tree in bulk, doth make man better be, or standing long an oak three hundred year to fall a log at last dry bald and sear. A lily of a day is fairer far in may, although it fall and die that night. It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see, and in short measures life may perfect be. Ben Johnson End of Poetic Dedication Chapter one of Jeremy and Hamlet by Hugh Walpole, this is a LibriVox recording, Chapter one, come out of the kitchen. One, there was a certain window between the kitchen and the pantry that was Hamlet's favorite. Thirty years ago these chronicles are of the year 1894, the basements of houses in provincial English towns, even of large houses owned by rich people, were dark, chill, odorful caverns, hissing with ill-burning gas, and smelling of ill-cooked cabbage. The basement of the Kohl's house in Paulchester was as bad as any other, but this little window between the kitchen and the pantry was higher in the wall than the other basement windows, almost on a level with the iron railings beyond it and offering a view down over Orange Street, and obliquely, sharp to the right and past the Paulchester High School, a glimpse of the cathedral towers themselves. Inside the window was a shelf, and on this shelf Hamlet would sit for hours, his peaked beard interrogatively a-tilt, his legs sticking out from his square body, as though it were a joint leg, and worked like the limb of a wooden toy, his eyes sad and mysterious, staring into life. It was not, of course, of life that he was thinking only very high-bred and inbred dogs or conscious philosophers. His ears were stretched for a sound of the movements of Mrs. Hanselow the cook, his nostrils distended for a quiff of the food that she was manipulating, but his eyes were fixed upon the passing show, the pageantry, the rough and tumble of the world, and every once and again the twitch of his Christmas tree tail would show that something was occurring in this life beyond the window that could supervene, for a moment at any rate, over the lust of the stomach and the lure of the clattering pan. He was an older dog than he had been on that snowy occasion of his first meeting with the Cole family, two years older, in fact, older and fatter. He had now a round belly, his hair hung as wildly as ever it had done around his eyes, but beneath the peaked and aristocratic beard there was a sad suspicion of a double chin. He had sold his soul to the cook. When we sell our souls we are ourselves, of course, in the main responsible, but others have often had more to do with our catastrophe than the world in general can know. Had Jeremy, his master, not gone to school, Hamlet's soul would yet have been his own. Jeremy gone, Hamlet's spiritual life was nobody's concern. He fell down, deep down, into the very heart of the basement, and nobody minded. He himself did not mind. He was very glad. He loved the basement. It had happened that during the last holidays Jeremy had gone into the country to stay with the parents of a school friend. Hamlet had had, therefore, nearly nine months' freedom from his master's influence. Mr. and Mrs. Cole did not care for him very deeply. Helen hated him. Mary loved him, but was so jealous of Jeremy's affection for him that she was not sorry to see him banished. And Barbara, only two-and-a-half, had as yet very tenuous ideas on this subject. Mrs. Hounslow, a very fat sentimental woman, liked to have something or someone at her side to give her rich but transient emotions. Emotions evoked by a passing band, the reading of an accident in the newspaper, or some account of an event in the royal family. The kitchen maid, a girl of no home and very tender years, longed for affection from somebody, but Mrs. Hounslow disliked all kitchen maids on principle. Therefore, Hamlet received what the kitchen maid needed, and that is the way of the world. Did there run through Hamlet's brain earlier stories of an emotion purer than the lust for bones, of a devotion higher and more ardent than the attachment to a dripping saucepan? Did he sometimes, as he sat reflectively beside the kitchen fire, see pictures of his master's small nose, of woods when, at his master's side, he sniffed for rabbits, of days when he raced along shining sands after a stone that he had no real intention of finding? Did he still feel his master's hand upon his head, and that sudden twitch as that hand caught a tuft of hair, and twisted it? No one can tell of what he was thinking as he sat on the shelf, staring out of his window, at old Miss Mulready, burdened with parcels climbing Orange Street, at the lamp-lighter, hurrying with his flame from post to post, of old grinder's war-worn cab, stumbling across the cobbles past the high school, the old horse faltering at every step, at the green evening sky slipping into dusk, the silver-pointed stars, the crooked roofs blackening into shadow, the lights of the town below the hill jumping like gold jack-in-the-boxes into the shadowy air. No one could tell of what he was thinking. He was aware that in the upper regions something was preparing. He was aware of this in general by a certain stir that there was of agitated voices and hurrying steps and urgent cries, but he was aware more immediately because of the attentions of Mary, Jeremy's younger sister. He had always hated Mary, our dogs, in their preferences and avoidances, guided at all by physical beauty or ugliness, was Helen of Troy adored by the dogs of that town, and did Sappho command the worship of the hounds of Greece. We told nothing of it, and on the other hand we know that Lancelot Gabbo had a devoted dog and that Sharon, who cannot have been a handsome fellow, was most faithfully dog-attended. I do not think that Hamlet minded poor Mary's plainness, her large spectacles, her Savile complexion, colorless hair and bony body. His dislike arose more probably from the certainty that she would always stroke him the wrong way, would poke her fingers into his defenseless eyes, would try to drag him onto her sharp razor-edged knees, and would talk to him in that meaningless sing-song, especially invented by the sentimental of heart and slow of brain for the enchantment of babies and animals. She was talking to him in just that fashion now. He had slipped upstairs, attracted by a smell in the dining room, watching for the moment when he would to be undetected, he had crept round the dining-room door, and had stood, his nose in air, surrounded by a sea of worn-green carpet, sniffing. Suddenly he felt a hand on his collar, and there followed that voice that of all others he most detested. Why is Hamlet, Ellen here? Hamlet, we can get him ready now, Helen. There's only two hours left anyway, and Jeremy will care much more about that than anything else. I'd like to leave him downstairs, but Jeremy will be sure to ask where he is. Which color shall I use for the ribbon, Helen? I've got blue and red and orange. Pause, then again. Which shall I use, do you say? Then, from a great distance, oh, don't bother, Mary. Can't you see I'm busy? A heavy sigh. Oh, well, you might. Never mind. I think the blues best. All this time Hamlet was desperately wriggling, but the hand with knuckles that pressed into the flesh and hurt had firm hold. Oh, do keep still, Hamlet. Can't you see that your master's coming home? And you've got to be made nice. Oh, bother. I've gone and cut the piece too short. Helen, have you got another piece of blue? Pause, then again. Oh, Helen, you might say I've cut the piece too short. Haven't you got another bit of blue? Then, again, from a long distance, don't bother, Mary. Can't you see that I'm busy? Oh, very well, then. A terribly deep sigh that made Hamlet shiver with discomfort. Come here, Hamlet. On to my lap where I can tie it better. There, that's right. Oh, do keep your head still. And how fat you are now. Insult upon insult eat. He raised his eyes to heaven, partly in indignation, partly because the entrancing smell could be caught more securely now from the elevation of Mary's lap. But the discomfort of that lap, the hard boniness, the sudden precipitate valley, the shortness of its surface so that one was forever slipping two legs over, moist warmth of the surrounding hand, the iron hardness of the fingers at the neck. He played his best game of wriggle, slipping, sliding, lying suddenly inert, jerking first with his paws, then with his hind legs, digging his head beneath his captor's arm, as the flamingo did in Alice. Mary, as so often occurred, lost her patience. Oh, do keep still, Hamlet. How tiresome you are when I've got such a little time, too. Don't you like to have a ribbon? And you'll have to be brushed, too. Helen, where's the brush that we used to have for Hamlet? No answer. Oh, do keep still, you naughty dog. She dug her knuckles into his eyes. Oh, Helen, do say, don't you know where it is? Then from a great distance, oh, don't bother, Mary. No, I don't know where it is. How stupid you are. Can't you see I'm busy? He wriggled. Mary slapped him. He turned and bit her. She dropped him. Oh, Helen, he's bit me. It's bitten, not bit. No, it isn't. It's bit. Perhaps he's mad or something, and I'll suddenly bark like a dog. I know they do. I read about it in hopes and fears. You're a horror dog, and I don't care whether Jeremy sees you or not. Oh, Helen, you might help. It's four o'clock, and Jeremy will be nearly here. Hamlet was free, free of Mary, but not of the room. The door behind him was closed. He sat there, thinking, the piece of blue ribbon hanging loosely around his neck. Something was stirring within him, something that was not an appetite nor a desire nor a rebellion, a memory. He shook his head to escape from his ribbon. The memory came closer. From that, too, he would like to escape. He gazed at the door. Had he never smelled that alluring smell? He slipped beneath the dining room table, and lying flat, resting his head on his paws, stared resentfully in front of him. The memory came closer. Three. Two hours later, he was sitting in a ridiculous position, two steps from the bottom of the hall stairs. Ridiculous because the stair was not broad enough for his figure because the blue ribbon was now firmly tied and ended in a large blue bow. Because Mary's hand was upon him, restraining him from his quite natural intention of disappearing. They were grouped about the stair, Helen and Mary, Barbara and the nurse, Mr. and Mrs. Cole, and Aunt Amy in the hall below. Helen, Mary and Barbara, were wearing cocked hats made of colored paper and carried silver tissue wands in their hands. Barbara was eating her tissue paper with great eagerness and a vivid, absorbed attention. Helen looked pretty and bored. Mary was in a state of the utmost nervousness, clutching Hamlet with one hand, while in the other she held a toy trumpet and a crumpled piece of paper. Everyone waited, staring at the door. Mr. Cole said, five minutes late, I must go back to my sermon in a moment. Aunt Amy said, I hope nothing can have happened. Mrs. Cole said, tranquilly, we should have heard if it had. The front doorbell rang, a maid appeared from nowhere and opened the door. From the dusk there emerged a small, heavily coated figure. Mr. and Mrs. Cole moved forward. There were embraces. Mr. Cole said, well, my boy, a husky voice was heard. Oh, I say, mother, that old squeak of a cabinet, the short, thick-set figure turned toward the staircase. Instantly Mary blew on her trumpet. Barbara, suddenly disliking the tissue paper, began to cry. Hamlet barked. Through the den the quavering voice of Mary could be heard, reading the poem of welcome. The returning to your home, back from school and football too, coming to us all alone, Mary Helen and Barbara welcome you. Hail to thee, then Jeremy dear, over you we shed a tear, just because you are so dear, welcome to your home. There should, then, have followed a blast on the trumpet and three rousing cheers. Alas, the welcome was a complete and devastating failure. Jeremy could be heard to say, oh, thanks awfully, by Joe, I am hungry, how soon, steed-mother. Barbara's howls were now so terrible as to demand immediate attention from every one. Hamlet had slipped from control and was barking it on Amy, whom he delighted to annoy. Mrs. Cole said, now that's enough children, dear, I'm sure Jeremy tired now. No one had heard Mary's verses, no one noticed the cocked hats, no one applauded the silver wands. The work of weeks was disregarded, no one thought of Mary at all. She crept away to her room at the top of the house, flung herself upon her bed and howled, fighting the counter-pane between her teeth. But are not these homecomings always most disappointing affairs? For weeks Jeremy had been looking to this moment on the frayed wallpaper just above his bed in the school dormitory. He had made thick black marks with a pencil, every mark standing for a day. Hard and cynical during his school day, a barbarian at war with barbarians at night when the lights were out, when the dormitory storytellers, unhappy Fitzminer, voice had died off in slumber, in those last few minutes before he too slept, he was sentimental, full of homesick longings, painting to himself that Barry springing from the cab, his mother's kiss, Hamlet's bark, yes, and even the embraces of his sisters. The morning of departure, after the excitement of farewells, the strange, almost romantic thrill of the empty school rooms, the race in the wagonette, his wagonette against the one with Cox's major and Bates and Simpson to the station, the cheeking of the station master, the crowding into the railway carriage, and leaning, five on top of you, out of the carriage window, the screams of, the ensuing fights with Cox's major, after all this gradual approach to known country, the gathering in, as though with an eager hand of remembered places and stations and roads, the half-hour stop at Dreimath, leaving now almost all your companions behind you, only young Marlowe and Sniff's major remaining, the crossing over into Gleebshire, then the heat of the heart, the tightening of the throat, as Polchester gradually approached, all this, yes, and more, much more than this, to end in that disappointment. Everyone looked the same as before, the hall the same, the pictures the same, father and mother and Aunt Amy the same, Mary and Helen the same, only stupider. What did they dress up and make fools of themselves like that for? Mary always did the wrong thing, and now most certainly she would be crying in her bedroom, because he had not said enough to her. In one way there had been too much of a reception in another not enough. It was silly of them to make that noise, but on the other hand there should have been more questions. How had he done in football? He had played half-back twice for the school. He had told them that in three different letters, and yet they had asked no questions. And there was Bates, who had stolen jam out of a fellow's tuck box. One of his letters had been full of that exciting incident, and yet they had asked no questions. It was true that they had had a little time for questions, nevertheless his father, at once after kissing him, had murmured something about his sermon, as though an old sermon mattered. Of course he did not think all this out. He only sat on his bed, kicking his legs, looking at the well-remembered furniture of his room, vaguely discontented and unhappy. What fun it had been that morning, ragging Miss Taylor, laughing at the guard of the train, saying good-bye to old Mumpsy Thompson, who recently spoke to him as though he were a man, asking him whether his parents had decided upon the public school to which in two years' time he would be going, Eaton, Harrow, Winchester, Caxton, Rugby, Creole, and so on. Time to decide, time to decide. Once public, the world widening and widening, growing ever more terribly exciting, and here Mary sobbing in her room and father with his sermons and the long evenings, at least no work, only a silly holiday task, a book called The Talisman or Some Rot, no work, his spirits revived a little, no work and lots of food, and Hamlet. Hamlet, he jumped off his bed. Why had he never noticed the dog? He had forgotten. He rushed from the room. When he was halfway down the stairs, he caught the echo of a voice, T. Jeremy, already in the school room. But he did not pause. In the hall he saw the housemaid. I say, where's Hamlet? He cried. In the kitchen I expect, Master Jeremy. She answered. In the kitchen she expected. Why should she expected? Hamlet never used to be in the kitchen. His heart began to beat angrily. The kitchen, that was not the place for a dog-like Hamlet, he stumbled down the dark stairs into the basement. Mrs. Hounslow was standing beside the kitchen table. Her sleeves rolled up above her elbows. She was pounding and pounding. Jeremy cried at once, challenging. I say, where's my dog? His dog. Mrs. Hounslow, already too scarlet for further color, nevertheless crimsoned internally. His dog. She hated little boys. Her sister, the one that married the postman, had had one. Two, indeed. She loved Hamlet, who had become, now, by the rights both of psychology and environment, hers. He is lying there right in front of the fire, Master Jeremy, the poor little worm, she added. The poor little worm was indeed stretched out, gnawing at a bone. He oughtn't to be in front of the fire, said Jeremy. It's bad for dogs. It gives him rheumatism. She stopped her pounding. They had not met before, but it was one of those old hostilities worn in the air, fostered by the crystal moon, roughened by the golden sun. Jeremy stood, his legs apart, looking down upon his dog. He saw how fat he was, how deeply engrossed in his bone, how dribbling at the jaws. Hamlet, he said, he repeated the name three times. At the third call, the dog looked up, then went back to his bone. Mrs. Hanselow sniffed. Meanwhile, in Hamlet's soul, something was stirring, memories, affections, sentiments. He licked the bone again, yet no longer tasted so sweet as before. He looked up at Mrs. Hanselow imploringly. She declared herself, it do love the kitchen, if there's one place where he loves to be, it's the kitchen. Only last night I was saying to my sister, and I said it's the most curious thing, how that dog do love the kitchen. A little kindness goes a long way with animals' poor things, as I said to my sister. But he oughtn't to love the kitchen, and Jeremy burst out indignantly, he isn't a kitchen dog. Mrs. Hanselow had received the last insult. Her face darkened the subrosa. She, to be reproached, she who had been the only one to show affection to the poor, deserted lamb, she who had protected him and fed him and given him warm places in which to sleep, a kitchen dog, and her kitchen, the cleanest, shiniest, most bescoured kitchen in Paul Chester. She had, however, her dignity. That's as maybe, Mr. Jeremy, she said, but it's natural, both in dogs and humans, that they should go to them as scarce for him best, and takes trouble over them. She went on with her pounding, breathing deeply. Jeremy looked at her. He had hurt her feelings. He was sorry for that. After all, she had been kind to the dog, in her own way. She naturally could not understand the point of view that he must take. Thank you very much, he said huskily, for having been so kind to Hamlet all this time. You're going to live upstairs now, but it was very good of you to take so much trouble. Hamlet was deep in his bone once more. When Jeremy put his hand on his collar, he growled. That roused Jeremy's temper. He dragged the dog across the floor. Hamlet pushed out his legs, and behind his hair, his eyes glared. The door closed on them both. Four. Upstairs in his own room, he squatted on the floor and drew Hamlet in between his legs. Hamlet would not look at his master. He sulked, as only dogs and beautiful women can. Hamlet, you must remember, you can't have forgotten everything so quickly. You can't have forgotten the fun we had last year, out at the farm, and when I rescued you, after Mary shut you up, and biting on Amy and everything, I know I've been away, and you must have thought I was never coming back, but I couldn't help that. I had to go to school, and I couldn't take you with me. Now I'm going to be home for weeks and weeks, and it will be awfully slow if you aren't with me. Nobody seems really excited about my coming back, and Uncle Daniel's away, and everything's rotten, so you must stay with me and go out with me for walks and everything. Hamlet was staring down at the floor through his hair. His master was scratching his head in exactly the way that he used to do, in the way that no one else had ever done. Three, four, five scratches in the middle, then slowly towards the right ear, then slowly towards the left, then both ears pulled up close together, then a piece of hair twisted into a peak, then all smoothed down again, and softly stroked into tranquility. Delicious! His soul quivered with sensuous ecstasy, then his master's hand smelt as they had always done, hard and rough with the skin, suddenly soft between the fingers. Very good to lick! His tongue was half out. In another moment he would have rolled over onto his back, his legs stuck stiffly out, his eyes closed, waiting for his belly to be tickled, in another moment. But there was a knock on the door, and Mary entered. Mary's eyes were red behind her spectacles. She had the sad, resigned indignation of a Cassandra misunderstood. Mary, aren't you coming down to tea? We're half finished. He rose to his feet. He knew that he must say something. I say, Mary, he stammered. It was most awfully decent of you to make that poetry up. I did like it. Did you really, she asked, gulping? Yes, I did. Would you like a copy of it? Most awfully. I did make a copy of it, but I thought nobody cared or wanted to hear. I was very careful lest she should begin to cry again. He said hurriedly, here's Hamlet. He's always been in the kitchen. He's not going to be any longer. Hamlet followed him downstairs, but still with reluctant dignity. The moment of his surrender had been covered, and he did not know that he would now surrender after all. He would see. Meanwhile he smelt food, and where food was he must be. Tea was in the school room. Miss Jones, the governess, was away on her holiday, and Jeremy saw it once that the worst thing possible had occurred. His aunt Amy, whom he did not love, was in charge of the tea table. He had fantastic thoughts when he saw his aunt, thinking of her never as a human being, but as an animal, a bird, perhaps a crow, a vulture, something hooked and clawed, but today she was determined that she would be friendly. Sit down, Jeremy, dear, you're very late, but on the first day we'll say nothing about it. His mother should have been here. Where was his mother? Have you washed your hands? Mother has collars, there is blackberry jam, and also strawberry. You're welcome home, Jeremy. He would have neither. He loved blackberry, still more he loves strawberry, but he would have neither, because aunt Amy had asked him. His eyes was on Hamlet, who was sulking by the door. I do hope, dear, that you're not going to have that dog with you everywhere again. All the time you were away was in the kitchen. Very happy there, I believe. Jeremy said nothing. Aunt Amy, who was, I think, to be applauded for her efforts with a sulky boy, bravely persevered. Do tell us, dear, about this last time at school. We are all so eager to know. Was it cricket or football, dear, and how did your work go? He mumbled something, blushing to the eyes as he caught his sister Helen's ironical supercilious glance. I hope your master was pleased with you, dear. He burst out, I was whacked twice. Aunt Amy sighed, the less about that, dear, the better we want to know what you did well. How strange that in the train he had eagerly desired this moment, and now he had nothing to say. I don't know, he murmured. There was a chap called Baze got bumped for stealing. Aunt Amy sighed again. Yes, Helen, dear, you can go if you've really finished. Wipe your mouth, Mary. Hamlet was watching his master. More than ever now were recollections stealing upon him. His master was unhappy, just as he used to be unhappy. He was hating that dark, strange-smelling animal, smelling of soap, the smell that Hamlet most avoided, whom Hamlet also hated. Yes, everything was returning. Five. Later on they were down in the drawing-room. Mrs. Cole was reading the dove in the eagle's nest. The children grouped about her feet. Jeremy, his rough-bullet head against his mother's dress, was almost asleep. He had had a long exhausting day. He was happy at last, seeing the colors fold and unfold before his eyes. That other world that was sometimes so strangely close to him mingled with the world of facts, now he was racing in the wagonette, leaning over and shouting triumphantly against those left behind. Now the path changed to a pool of gold, and out of it a bronze tower rose, solemn to heaven, straight and tall against the blue sky, windows of the tower opened and music sounded, and his mother's voice came back to him like the sudden rushing of the train, and he saw merry spectacles and the flickering fire and Helen's gleaming shoes. For the moment he had forgotten Hamlet, the dog lay near the door. It opened and Aunt Amy came in. At once the dog was through the door, down the stairs and into the kitchen. This was habit. Everything had acted in him before he could stop to think. It was natural for him to be in the kitchen at this hour when it was brilliantly lit, and the cook and the housemaid and the kitchen maid were having their last drop of tea. Always things for him at this moment, sweet things, fat things, meaty things. He sat there and they dropped bits into his mouth, murmuring, poor worm, little lamb, sweet pet. Mrs. Unslow was tonight quite especially affectionate, delighted with his return to her. She patted him, pulled him into her ample lap, folded his head against her yet ample bosom, confided to the maids what that limb of a boy had dared to say to her, kitchen dog indeed, as though it weren't the finest kitchen in Gleebshire, and who'd looked after the poor animal if she hadn't, and then, and why? But of course. The maids agreed, sipping the tea from their saucers, but Hamlet was not happy. He did not care tonight for Mrs. Unslow's embraces. He was not happy. He struggled from her lap on through the floor and sat there scratching himself. When ten struck, he was taken to his warm corner near the oven. She curled him up, she bent down and kissed him. The lights were turned out and he was alone. He could not sleep. The loud ticking of the kitchen clock, for so many months a pleasant sleepy sound, to-night disturbed him. He was not happy. He got up and wandered about the kitchen, sniffing. He went to the door. It was a jar. He pushed it with his nose. Something was leading him. He remembered now how well he remembered up these dark stairs under that hissing clock, up these stairs again along that passage, the moon grinning at him through the window. But of course he did not know that it was the moon. Up more stairs along this wall than this door. He pushed with his nose. It moved. He squeezed himself through. He hesitated, sniffing. Then how familiar this was. A spring and he was on the bed. A step or two and he was licking his master's cheek. I'll cry. Hamlet! Oh, Hamlet! He struggled under his master's arm, licking the cheek furiously, planting his paw, but with the nails carefully drawn in, on his master's neck. Once more that hand about his head, the scratch first to the left, then the right, then the pulling of the ears. With a sigh of satisfaction he sank into the hollow of his master's body, and in another second was asleep. End of chapter 1 Chapter 2 Of a Jeremy and Hamlet by Hugh Walpole This Libberbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 2 Conscience Money 1. These Christmas holidays had begun badly. Jeremy's mood was wrong from the very start. He had not wished it to be wrong. He had come determined to find everything right and beautiful. Now nothing was right and nothing was beautiful. For one thing there was nothing to do. It was not the custom nearly thirty years ago to invent games, occupations and employments for your young as it is today. Mrs. Cole, loving her children, had nevertheless enough to do to make the house go round, and Mr. Cole was busy in his study. The children would amuse themselves, who could doubt it, but at the same time there were so many things that they must not do, that as the days passed they were more and more restricted and confined. Mary, what are you reading? Oh, I wouldn't read that quite yet, dear, a little later, perhaps. Or Helen, you are sitting in the sun, go and get your hat. Or, not on the carpet, dear, it will make your clothes so dusty. Why don't you sit down and read a little? Before his departure school words, Jeremy had been accustomed to those inhibitions and had taken them for granted as inevitable. Then, in that other world, he had discovered a new row of inhibitions as numerous and devastating as the first series, but quite different, covering in no kind of way the same ground. These new inhibitions were absolute and the danger of disobeying them was far graver than in the earlier case. He fitted, then, his life into those and grew like a little plant upwards and outwards as that sinister gardener school tradition demanded. Then came the return to home and, behold, those old, early childish inhibitions were still in force. It was still, don't, Jeremy, you'll tear your trousers. Or, no, not now, dear, mother's busy. Or, no, you can't go into the tower now. Perhaps tomorrow. Or, once is enough, Jeremy, don't be greedy. And, on the other side, there was nothing to do. Nothing to do. He could no longer play with Mary or Helen. Mary was too emotional and Helen too conceited. And who wanted to play with girls anyway? Barbara was rather fascinating but was surrounded by defences of nurses, mothers, and mysterious decrees. Hamlet was his only resource. Without him he would surely have fallen sick and died. But a dog is limited within doors. For Hamlet's own sake Jeremy longed that they should be forever in the open. Oh, why did they not live in the country? Why in this stupid and stuffy town? But then again, was it stupid and stuffy? Jeremy longed to investigate it more intimately but was prevented at every turn. It might be an enchanting town. Certainly there were sounds and lights and colours that, now that he was older and knew what life was, suggested themselves as entrancing. He simply was not allowed to discover for himself. Hindered, inhibited, everywhere. Had only Uncle Samuel been here things would have been better. Uncle Samuel was queer and strange and said most disconcerting things. But he did understand Jeremy. As it was, no one understood him. Today had anyone seen a small fixed-set boy with a stocky figure and a snub nose standing halfway down the stairs, lost and desolate, there would be a thousand things to suggest. Then it was not the hour for the afternoon walk or the hour was passed. Children must not be in the way. Matters were not improved by a little conversation that he had with Aunt Amy. She found him one morning standing before the dining-room window staring into Orange Street. Well, Jeremy, she paused in the quick rattle-rattle walk that she always had in the morning when she was helping her sister over household duties, nothing to do. He neither answered nor turned around. You should reply when spoken to. Then, more softly, because there was something desolate in his attitude that she could not but feel, well, dear, tell me. He turned round and as he looked at her she was conscious as she had often been before, almost with terror, of the strange creatures that little boys were and how far from her understanding. I want to go out and buy a football," he said. A football, she repeated, as though he had said a gorilla. Yes, he said impatiently, the little ones are only ten and six pence, and I've got that over from the pound Uncle Samuel gave me on my birthday, and Father says I mustn't go out. Well, that settles it then, said Aunt Amy cheerfully. I don't see why," said Jeremy slowly. He's let me go out alone when I was ever so small before I went to school. You can be sure he has his reasons," said Aunt Amy. She suddenly sat down on one of the dining-room chairs and said, come here, Jeremy. He came to her, reluctantly. She put him in front of her and laid her hands on his shoulders and stared at him. He wriggled uncomfortably, wishing to escape from her projecting tooth and her eyes that were here gray and there green. Herself, meanwhile, felt a sudden warmth of sentiment. She wanted to be kind to him. Why, she knew not. You're getting a big boy now, Jeremy," she paused. Yes, said Jeremy. And you don't want to be a sulky big boy, do you? I'm not sulky, said Jeremy. No, dear, I'm sure you're not, but you're not being quite the bright willing boy we'd like to see you. You know that we all love you, don't you? Yes, said Jeremy. Well, then, you must repay our love and show us that you are happy and willing to do what your father and mother wish. Jeremy said nothing. You do love your father and mother, don't you? Yes, said Jeremy. Well, then, said Aunt Amy triumphantly, as though she had been working out a problem in Euclid, you must show it. No more sulking, dear, but be the bright little boy we all know you can be. She left Jeremy puzzled and confused. Was it true that he was sulky? He did love his father and mother, but deeply distrusted at scenes of sentiment. Nevertheless, Christmas was approaching, and he felt warm towards all the world, even Aunt Amy. Often and often he went up to his bedroom, closed the door behind him, looked under his bed to make sure that no one was in the room, then very cautiously opened the lid of his play-box and peered inside. At the bottom of the box were a number of odd-shaped parcels. He picked them up one after another and stroked their paper, then laid them carefully in their places. He sighed, as of a man who has accomplished a great and serious task. Many times a day he did this. He had himself unpacked his play-box and gone on his return from school. No one in the house, save only he, had beheld those strange parcels. Two. Christmas approached nearer and nearer. Now it was only four days before Christmas Eve. There was no snow, but frost and a cold pale blue sky. The town was like a crystallized fruit, hard and glittering and sharply colored. The market was open during the whole of Christmas week, and there was the old woman under her umbrella and the fur-coated man with the wooden toys and the fruit stalls with the holly and mistletoe and the punch and judy under the town clock, where it had been for ever so many years. And the man with the colored balloons and the little dogs on wheels that you wound up in the back with a key and they jumped along the cobbles as natural as life. The children were deeply absorbed over their presence. There was no one in the house who had ever seen me so often from behind her spectacles in a mysterious and ominous way that at last he said, All right, Mary, you'll know me next time. I was wondering, she said, with a convulsive choke in her throat, whether you'd like my present. I expect that will, he said, busy at the moment with the brushing of Hamlet. Because, she went on, there were two things and I couldn't make up my mind which and I asked Helen and she said the first one because you might have a cold any time and it would be good in the snow. But we don't have snow here much so I thought the other would be better because you do like pictures, don't you, Jeremy? And sometimes the pictures are lovely. So I got that and now I don't know whether you'll like it. Jeremy had no reply to make to this. Oh, now you've guessed what it is. No, I haven't, said Jeremy quite truthfully. Oh, I'm so glad, Mary sighed with relief. Have you got all your presents? Yes, all of them, said Jeremy, drawing himself up and gazing with dreamy pride over Hamlet's head. Shall I like mine? asked Mary, her eyes glistening. Awfully, said Jeremy, you'll like it, he said slowly, better than anything you've ever been given. Better than the writing case Uncle Samuel gave me? Much better. Oh, Jeremy! She suddenly flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. Hamlet barked and escaped the brush and comb, then seized Mary's hair-ribbon that had, as usual, fallen to the floor and ran with it to a distant corner. Incidents followed that had nothing to do with presents. Indeed, those parcels at the bottom of his play-box became an obsession. He went up a hundred times a day to look at them, to take them out and stroke them, to feel their knobs and protruding angles, to replace them first in this way and then in that. Sometimes he laid them all out upon the bed. Sometimes he spread them in a long line across the carpet. He brought up Hamlet and made him look at them. Hamlet and each parcel then wanted to tear the paper wrappings. Finally he lay on the carpet and rattled in his throat, wagging his tail and bearing his teeth. Christmas Eve arrived, a beautiful, clear, frosty day. Three. Jeremy came in from his morning walk, his cheeks crimson, looking very nautical in his blue reefer coat. He went straight up to his room, locked the door and closed the play-box. The parcels were all there. He counted them, felt them, sighed a sigh of satisfaction and pride, then closed the play-box again. He took off his coat and went downstairs. Helen, meeting him in the hall, cried, Oh, Jeremy, father wants to see you. Where? In the study. Jeremy paused. The word study had always a man never wished to see any of them there unless for some very unpleasant purpose. He threw his mind back. What had he been doing? What sin had he within the last day or two committed? He could think of nothing. His parcels had kept him quiet. Both he and Hamlet had been very good. Only Aunt Amy had spoken to him about sulking. But that had been over a week ago. No, he had been very good. to be nothing. Nevertheless he walked down the hall with slow and hesitating step. Hamlet wanted to come with him. He had to stop him. Hamlet sat down near the door and watched him enter with anxious eyes. He did not like Mr. Cole. The study was a close dark room lined with book-shells, rows and rows of theological works all dusty and forlorn. In the middle of the left wall between the book-shells hung a large photograph of the forum, Rome, and on the similar space on the other wall a photograph of the Parthenon. Behind a large desk sat Mr. Cole, very thin, very black, very white. His small son stood on the other side of the desk and looked at him. Well, my boy, what is it? Helen said, you wanted me. He shifted from one foot to another and looked anxiously at the forum. Did I? Ah, let me see. What was it? Ah, yes, of course. It's your journey money. I should have asked you many days ago. I thought your mother had taken it. She had apparently forgotten. Journey money? Of what was he talking? Journey money? Because, although he still did not know in the least of what his father was speaking, danger hovered suddenly near him like a large black bird, the wings obliterating the dusty light. Mr. Cole, who had much to do, grew a little impatient. Yes, yes, the money that we sent to your master for your journey home. Your mother fancied from what Mr. Thompson wrote to that the former sum had not been quite sufficient. This time we sent at least a pound more than the fair demanded. The bird came closer. Even now he did not understand. But his throat was dry and his heart was beating violently. Ah, the money that Mr. Thompson gave me the day before the end of term? Yes, yes, my boy. He gave me fifteen shillings and a ticket. Well, let me have it. I spent it. There was a pause Mr. Cole stared at his son. What do you say? I spent it, father. What? I spent it. Fright now was upon him terror panic. But behind the panic, like the resolution under torture, not to betray one's friend, was the resolve never, never to say upon what the money had been What? I haven't got it, father. I thought it was for me. You thought it was for you? Yes, Mr. Thompson didn't say anything about it, only that it was for the journey. And did you spend it on the journey? There was no answer. Will you kindly tell me how, having already your ticket, you managed to spend one pound between your school and your home? How he hated those tears rising and desperately beat them back. How he hated those tears that came always, it seemed, when one least wished to cry. It wasn't a pound. One tear came, hesitated and fell. It was fifteen shillings. Very well, then, will you kindly explain to me how you spent fifteen shillings. How old are you? Ten and a half. Ten and a half. Very well, you have been a year and a half at school. You are quite old enough to understand. Do you know what you have done? Tears now were falling fast. You have stolen this money. No word. Do you know what they call someone who steals money? No answer. They call him a thief. Through convulsive sobs there came a didn't steal it. Do not add lying to the rest. Mr. Cole got up. Come with me to your room. They walked into the hall. Hamlet was waiting and sprang forward. At once he saw in the sobbing figure of his master trouble and disaster. His head fell, his tail crept between his legs. He slowly followed the procession, only looking at Mr. Cole's black legs with longing. Upstairs they went, up through the tranquil and happy house. Barbara was being bathed, gurgling and applause and the splash of water came from the bathroom. They were in Jeremy's room, the door closed, Hamlet on the other side. Jeremy stood, the tears drying on his face, his sobs are coming in and he said, what you have done with this money on what you have spent it? There was no answer. It is of no use to be obstinate Jeremy. Tell me on what have you spent this money? He looked about him. There must be something in the room that would show him. Not many things here. The little case with some books, the pictures of Napoleon on the bellarofon and the charge of the light of drawers. Then his eye fell on the play box. He went to it and opened it. Jeremy gave a long convulsive sigh. Then between his sobs, father, please I will get the money. I will really. I didn't know it was wrong. Those are mine. They break two of them. I'll get the money. I will really. Please, father. A word here is needed in defense of Mr. Cole. A word is necessary. His action was inevitable. He truly loved his son. And because of that very love he was now shocked to the depth of his soul. His son was a thief. His son had lied and stolen. He was old enough to know what he was about. To himself who had been brought up in a poverty that was martyrdom and an honesty that was fanatical, no sin could save only the sins of the flesh. For more than two years now he had been troubled by Jeremy, seeing many signs in him of a nature very different from his own. Signs of independence, rebellion, and as it seemed to him, hardness of heart and selfishness. Now the boy was a thief deliberately spending money that did not belong to him in the hopes that his parents would forget. He bent over the play box, saw the parcel so neatly laid out there, took one up in his hand. He looked back at his son. What is this, Jeremy? There was no answer. Did you get these things with the money? Yes, father. Then he said, their presents for Christmas. Presents. Mr. Cole took up first one parcel, then another, holding them up to the light. And very slowly, with that deliberation with which he did everything, he undid the parcels. Jeremy said nothing, only stood there, his face white and dirty where the tears had left marks, his legs apart, his fists clenched. One after another they were laid bare and placed upon the bed. Rather pitiful they looked. A white-backed hairbrush, a coral necklace, a little brooch of silver gilt, a pair of woolen gloves, a baby's coral, a story-book, a dog-caller, two handkerchiefs, a work-box, a cheap copy in a cheap frame of dignity and impudence, a tea-caddy. Obviously all the servants have been included in this. No one had been forgotten. Had not Mr. Cole been so wholly and so truly shocked by his son's wickedness, the thought that had plainly gone to the buying of each gift. But imagination was not Mr. Cole's strongest part. Jeremy watched him. Suddenly he broke out, Father, don't take them away. Let me give them to-morrow. You can punish me any way you like. You can beat me or take away my pocket money forever, or anything you like. But let me give them to-morrow. Please, Father, please, Father. Be part of your punishment, my son, Mr. Cole said very sorrowfully, and finding it difficult to balance the things one upon another in his arms. In another second of time, Jeremy was upon him, screaming, beating with his fists, scratching with his hands, crying, You shan't take them. You shan't take them. They're mine. You're wicked. You're wicked. They're my things. You shan't take them. He was mad, wild, frantic. He found his father's thigh, his head beating against his father's chest, his legs kicking against his father's calves. He screamed like something not human. For a moment Mr. Cole was almost carried off his balance. The things that he was carrying, the hairbrush, the necklace, the picture, went tumbling on the floor. Then Jeremy was picked up and still kicking and breathless, flung on to the bed. Then the door closed and the boy was alone. Four. The first real agony of Jeremy's young life followed. Two years before, just at this time, he had been in disgrace for telling a lie. His misery had been acute for an hour or two and then, with the swift memory of eight years old, it had been forgotten and covered up. This was another business. When, after lying stunned for a long time, his thoughts came to him, his first emotion was one of blind, mad rage. An emotion quite new to him never felt before. Injustice! Injustice! That was a new word written on the page of his life's book, never again to be eradicated. There came before him at once, as though it were being presented to him, by some new friend who was with him in the room for the first time, the picture of the afternoon when he had bought the presents, the group of boys who had gone into the little neighboring town to buy things that they were taking home. His consciousness of the fifteen shillings as absolutely his own, his first thought that he would buy sweets with some of it and keep the rest for the holidays, then the sudden flash of inspiration, presents for everybody, Christmas presents for everybody, and with that the sudden flooding of his heart with love for home, for pollchester, for everyone, even Amy and the kitchen maid. And then his delighted discovery in the general shop where they were that there were so many different things to buy and so many so cheap. The half hour that he had and the wonderful excitement of taking back his parcels himself packing them in his playbox and it ends in this. He hadn't known that the money was not for him. He hadn't thought for a moment that it was not. He sat up on the bed and looked about the room and saw the things scattered about the floor. The brush, the necklace, the glass of the picture was broken. At the sight of that he suddenly began to cry again, kneeling on the bed, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes. He felt sick. His head was aching. His head hot. And he felt anger, furious, rebellious anger. He hated his father, hated him so that it made him sick to think of him. What would his father do to him? He didn't care. He would like to be terribly punished, beaten to within an inch of his life because then he could with more justice than ever devote his life to hating his father. He would hate him forever, but this time he was crying in a sniveling sort of way like a little animal whose limb is broken. The house was utterly silent about him. No sound at all. Then he caught a thin feeble scratching at the door. He climbed off the bed and went to it. Opening it cautiously he peered out. Hamlet was there, wagging his tail. He pulled him into the room, shut the door, dragging him on to the bed, holding him into himself, suffering himself to be licked from one ear to the other. Five. How terrible the time that followed! None of the cold children could remember anything at all like it. Even Helen, who was nearly grown up now because she was at the Polchester High School and had won last term a prize for calisthenics, was impressed with the tragedy of it all. How awful that Christmas Day never by any of them to be forgotten for the rest of their lives. Jeremy came downstairs and there was a pretense of gaiety. Presence were distributed on Christmas evening. Turkey and plum pudding were eaten. A heavy cloud enveloped everyone. The fanatic that then was in Mr. Cole began now to flower. For the first time his son appeared to him as a conscious developing individual. For the first time he really loved him. And for the first time he felt that there was a soul to be saved and that he must save it. For the first time also in their married lives a serious difference of opinion divided the father and mother. Mrs. Cole yearned over her son who was now in some strange way escaping her. She was no psychologist and indeed 30 years ago parents never conceived of analyzing their children. She was only discovering what every mother discovers that a year's absence had taken her boy away from her. Had given him interest that she could not share taught him ambitions confided to him secrets delivered him over to hero worshipings that would never be hers. Not for 10 years would he return to her. To be a mother you must have infinite patience. He felt against her husband's policy. Outwardly she submitted to it. During all the week following Christmas the Cole's were a miserable family and in the middle of them Jeremy moved a figure of stone. They wished him to be an outcast. Very well then he would be an outcast. They thought him a criminal and not fit for their society. Very well then he would be a part and of himself. The presents were there at the bottom of his play box. His only definite punishment was that he should receive no pocket money throughout the holidays but he was a pariah and a pariah he would be. Once his mother talked to him drawing him to her putting her arms around him. Jeremy dear just go to your father and say you're sorry and then it will all be over. I'm not sorry. Well if you're not sorry about spending the money because you didn't know that you oughtn't to say you're sorry because you kicked father. I'm not sorry I kicked father. But father loves you. He was only doing what he thought was right. Father doesn't love me or he would have known I didn't steal the money. But Jeremy dear father wants you to realize that you mustn't spend other people's money as though it were your own. I don't do understand now. I'm not too young to understand. Mrs. Cole sighed. This Jeremy was utterly strange to her so old, so oddly different from the boy of a year ago so hard and so hostile. She was very unhappy and Jeremy too was unhappy desperately unhappy. It was no fun being a rebel. Sometimes he was on the very edge of a render wanting to go and submit to his father fling his arms around his mother listen to Mary's silly stories play and shout and sing and laugh as he used to do. Something kept him back. It was as though he were in a nightmare one of those nightmares when you can't speak a weight is on your chest you move against your will. He was so unhappy that he told Hamlet that he was going to run away to sea. He had serious thoughts of this. Then suddenly Uncle Samuel returned from Paris. 6. It was a wet, windy evening. The rain was blowing in streaky gusts up Orange Street sending the lamps inebriated and whipping at windows as though it would never find outlet sufficient for its ill temper. Out of the storm came Uncle Samuel in a black cape and a floppy black hat straight from that mysterious unseen unfathomed country Paris. As usual he was casual and careless enough in his greetings kissed his sister quickly nodded to his brother-in-law grinned at the children and was in a moment transported to that strange region at the back of the house where was his studio that magical place into which none of the children had even entered. He did not that evening apparently notice Jeremy's desolate figure. On the following afternoon Jeremy, Hamlet at his heels was hanging disconsolately about the passage when his uncle suddenly appeared. Hello, he said. Hello, said Jeremy. Uncle Samuel was in his blue painting smock whereas the other members of the family were so well known to Jeremy to be a performer or the piano. Uncle Samuel's appearance was always new and exciting. With his chubby face the gray hair that stood up rather thinly about his crimson his fat, stumpy body ironical blue eyes and little rather childish mouth he always seemed nearer to Jeremy than the others younger, more excitable more easily surprised he had the look of an old baby Jeremy sometimes thought he looked at Jeremy consideringly. Got anything to do? No. Come on into the studio. May I? Well, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't want you. Yes, you may bring the dog. Jeremy's excitement was intense. Once, long ago his uncle had said that he might go into the studio but he had never dared to venture. Carefully, like Acog the door was opened a curtain pulled aside a long empty room with wide high windows overlooking meadow and hill a low bookcase running the length of the room a large sofa with cushions two rugs some pictures with their faces to the wall some other pictures hanging funny ones a girl with a green face a house all crooked of course. Uncle Samuel went to the sofa and sat down he called Jeremy over to him and pulled him in between his knees been having a row, he said Yes, said Jeremy kicked your father Yes, what was it all about? Jeremy told him Uncle Samuel listened attentively his eyes no longer ironical he put his hand on Jeremy's shoulder and the boy feeling the unexpected kindness burst into tears the misery of the last week overflowed from his heart I didn't know I didn't really I wanted to give them the thing I wasn't wicked the man bent down and picked the boy up and held him tight and then he talked to him Look here, you've not got to mind this you were wrong too, you know your father was right from his way of seeing things isn't yours, that's all when you get older you'll find people often don't see things the way you do won't like the work you're proudest of simply won't understand it there are as many different opinions as can be in this old world and you simply got to face it you've just got to be ready for anything not to get angry and kick don't let yourself be too sensitive you'll go up and you'll go down up, people will say you ought to be down and when you're down there'll be a few kind souls who'll help you up again misunderstood why bless my soul you'll be misunderstood a million times before you're done if you've got work you like a friend you can trust and a strong stomach you'll have enough to be thankful for you won't understand all that I'm saying yet but you soon will you come along in here never had anything right all his life largely through his own fault mind you there there bless me you're as soppy as a shower of rain fond of your uncle Jeremy hugged him that's right well mind you keep it up I can do with some will you say you're sorry to your father Jeremy nodded his head that's right now listen this studio is for you to be in when you like not your beastly sisters mind you but you and your dog if he'll behave himself Hamlet promised Jeremy ceased to cry he looked about him when they had come in the room had been in dusk now it was too dark to see he felt for his uncle's hand and held it nothing so wonderful as this had yet happened in his life he did not know however how wonderful in reality that evening would afterward seem to him all his after life he would look back to it the dark room the dog quiet at their feet the cool strength of his uncle's hand the strange heating excitement the happiness and security after the week of wild loneliness and dismay it was in that half hour that his real life began it was then that like Alice in her looking glass he stepped over the brook and entered into his inheritance End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Jeremy and Hamlet by Hugh Walpole this LibriVox recording is in the public domain Chapter 3 The Dance 1. A fortnight after Christmas a bomb partly of apprehension partly of delight fell upon the Cole family an invitation to a dance in the house of Holland of Gleek the invitation arrived at breakfast and the children would in all probability have known nothing at all about it had it not been in an envelope addressed to Miss Cole Helen therefore opened it and never having received anything like it before thought at first that it was a grown-up invitation to a grown-up tea party Miss Cole Miss Mary Cole Master Jeremy Cole James Mow Holland at home January 10, 1895 The Manor House, Gleek Dancing 6.30 to 10 She was flattered by this of course but it was not until the word dancing caught her eye that she realized the true significance of the invitation Dancing! she adored it at the high school she was recognized as the best dancer of all the younger girls she was she knew she was she was adorable, fascinating wonderful when she danced she was she knew she was she gave her mother the invitation and in a voice trembling with emotion said, oh mother may we go, may we Mary and Jeremy who saw that they also were concerned in this mysterious affair stopped eating and she really hardly knows us we've only exchanged calls Mrs. Mow Holland that's the woman out at Gleek said Aunt Amy who always liked to feel that she was the real directoress of the Cole family affairs has she asked the children to a party yes to a dance on the 10th well of course they cannot go said Aunt Amy decisively Gleek's much too far now it happened that on that particular morning Mr. Cole was feeling considerably irritated by his sister-in-law he often felt like this and spent many half hours in wondering why his sister-in-law and his brother-in-law neither of them at all sympathetic to him occupied his house and then he remembered that his sister-in-law at least shared in the expenses of the family and that without that share finances would be difficult but this morning even this thought did not overcome his dislike of his sister-in-law he was ready to contradict anything that she said he looked over the top of his egg at his wife I don't see why they shouldn't go we can have a cab from pools on Amy who like Mrs. Norris was very careful with other people's money burst out but thank Herbert all the expense of a cab and it will have to wait to take them back again and pools charges go up and up and I'm sure the children will do very nicely at home how gladly at that moment would Helen, Mary and Jeremy put poison in Aunt Amy's tea or stabbed her in the back with a bread knife however little as they realized it she was doing everything to help their cause Mr. Cole looking at Aunt Amy very severely said thank you Amy but that's my affair poor as we are with a cab I think it will be good for the children to go Mrs. Mulholland's kindness must not be rejected at that moment in came Uncle Samuel late and unshaven as usual and the conversation was not continued the affair was settled by the kindness of a neighbor Mrs. Carstairs who having been also invited to take her small boy offered to share a cab and chaperone the Cole children and possibly conceive what it was like to us children in the old days in pollchester to be invited to a dance for the grownups in pollchester there were a great many balls more perhaps than there are today but for the children there was very little some afternoon parties perhaps one pantomime little more to the Cole children an evening dance there was wonder beyond wonder life was instantly at the nearest murmur of its name transformed into something exquisite rainbow colored fantastical Helen's transports were all selfish she was not a bad girl did you grant her her devastating egotism she cared for her family she was neither vindictive nor mean not too greedy and not too vain but she drove towards her purpose with the cold clean cut assurance of a steel knife cutting paper and that purpose was the aggrandizement and public splendor of Helen Cole Mary was the romantic one of the family and this ball was as marvelous to her as were ever the coach and want to Cinderella full of tremors she nevertheless allowed her imagination full play soon Mrs. Mulholland her house her grounds her family her servants were scattered with stardust ablaze with diamonds glittering with pearls and rubies she sat for hours motionless picturing it Jeremy's attitude was mixed he was deeply excited but hid his emotion from everyone say Uncle Samuel of whom in the strictest privacy he asked many searching questions he had a habit just at this time which was found irritating by his elders of asking questions and himself answering them as for instance will it be the same cab both ways yes will it be mostly girls that will be there no if you know the answers to the questions what do you ask them for said Uncle Samuel but he didn't know the answers to his questions it was a habit into which he had fallen Uncle Samuel gave him his view of dances in general it was a poor one Jeremy who was adoring his Uncle just now tried to feel superior Uncle Samuel says dances are rotten he announced to Helen mother says you're not to use that word said Helen nevertheless in his heart he was excited desperately two the day arrived which for a whole week it seemed that it would never have strength sufficient to do all the afternoon they were being dressed the young assistant of Mr. Consat the hairdresser came up to attend to Helen and Mary this had never happened before the dresses of Helen and Mary were alike white silk with pink ribbons Helen looked lovely with her black hair big black eyes and thick eyelashes her slender white neck tall slim body and lovely ankles she was one upon whom fine clothes settled with a sigh of satisfaction as though they knew that they were in luck with Mary it was precisely the opposite the plainer you dressed her the better fine clothes only accentuated her poor complexion dusty hair and ill shaped body yes Helen looked lovely even Jeremy would have noticed it had absorbed by his own clothing for the first time in his life he was wearing a white waistcoat he was of course uncomfortably clean he hated the sticky feeling in his hair the tightness of his black shoes the creaking of his stiff white shirt but these things must be had he only known it his snub nose his square pugnacious face and a certain sturdy soundness of his limbs gave him exactly the appearance of a sillium puppy but silliums were not popular thirty years ago Hamlet smelt the unusual cleanliness of his master and was excited by it he stuck closely to his heels determining that if his master were going away again this time he would not be left behind but would go too when however pool's cab really arrived he was given no chance being held to his infinite disgust in the bony arms of Aunt Amy all the grown-ups were there to watch them go and Mrs. Hunslow and many the parlor made in the background Mr. Cole was smiling and looking quite cheerful he felt that this was all his doing now children cried Aunt Amy as though it were her family her cab and her party mind you enjoy yourselves and tell Mrs. Carstairs that mother doesn't want you to stay too late to pick up Mrs. Carstairs who lived higher up the terrace who was a nice rosy-faced woman a widow with a small boy called Herbert because Herbert was their father's name it had a solemn grown-up air to the children and they felt the contrast to be very funny indeed when a small pale-faced mouse of a boy was piloted into the cab he was so deeply smothered in shawls and comforters that there was little to be seen but a sharply peeked nose he was it seemed a serious-minded child soon after getting into the cab he remarked I do hope that we all enjoy ourselves this evening I'm sure Mrs. Carstairs although she was stout and jolly was so nervous about the health of her only child that she made all the children nervous too you aren't feeling cold birdie darling are you haven't got a headache have you lean against mother darling are you tired to all of which Herbert answered a very solemnly I am not mother he was however it seemed a child with a considerable sense of humor because he suddenly pinched Jeremy in the fatty part of his thigh and then looked at him very severely as though challenging him to say anything about it and it suddenly occurred to Jeremy that you had a great advantage if you looked old and solemn because no one would ever see anything wicked of you his thoughts however of young Herbert were soon lost in the excitement of the adventure of the cab nothing that he had ever known was more wonderful than this the rolling through the lighted town the background so dark like the inside of a box the tearing through the marketplace now so silent and mysterious down through North Street over the pole bridge and so out into the country of the high road, rhythmed by the clamp-clamp of the horse's hoofs the mysterious gleam of white patches as the road was illumined by the light from the carriage lamps the heavy thick-set hedges watching as though they were an army of soldiers drawn up in solemn order to let the carriage pass through the smell of the night mingled with the smell of the cab the rattle of the ill-fitting windows the excited have strangled with Mary all these together produced in Jeremy's breast a feeling of exultation pride and adventure that was never to be forgotten they were all packed very closely together and bounced about like marionettes without self-control Jeremy said in a voice hoarse with bumping and excitement shall I put my gloves on yet he had never had white gloves before Mrs. Carster said you might try them on dear and see be careful not to split them which of course he immediately did not a very bad split and between the thumb and finger of the left hand so that perhaps it would not be seen while with some concern he was considering this they drove through park gates and along a wide drive to Jeremy's excited fancy silver birds seemed to fly past the windows and sheets down and rise swinging up to heaven again they passed a stretch of water on their right dark like a blind mirror but with a crack of light that crossed it and then faded into splashing gold where the lamps and shining windows of the house reflected in it they were there other carriages also children like ghosts passing up the stone steps the great house so strangely indifferent he saw but out of the carriage dark spaces beyond the splash of light where the garden was hidden cold and reserved and apart it was like him to notice that the only child that evening who saw inside the house there was a sudden noise of laughter and voices and people moving and two large footmen with white powdered hair waiting to take your coats without his coat waiting for a moment alone he felt shivery and shy and very conscious of his white waistcoat then he saw young Ernest son of the Dean of Paul Chester and Bill Bartlett and the Mrs. Bartlett children of one of the cannons and Tommy Winchester son of the Pressenter he winked at Tommy who was a fat round boy with a face like an apple but pretended not to see when Ernest caught his eye because he hated Ernest and having fought him once he hoped very much to have the pleasure of fighting him again soon and licking him he advanced into the big shining dazzling room behind his two sisters as onto a field of battle the Mrs. Cole and the master Cole shouted a large stout man with a face like an oyster and then Jeremy found himself shaking hands with a beautiful lady all white hair black silk and diamonds and an old gentleman with an eyeglass and then before he knew it he was standing against the wall with Mary and Helen surveying the scene as he watched a sudden desperate depression fell upon him it was all like a painted picture that he was outside he was an outcast and Mary was an outcast and Helen they had arrived at an interval between the dances and the gleaming floor was like a great lake stretching from the floor from the ceiling hung great clusters of light throwing down splashes like dim islands and every once and again someone would cross the floor very carefully seeming to struggle to reach the islands to pause there for a moment as though for safety against the wall right around the ballroom figures were ranged some like Chinese idols silent and motionless dances rose like the noise of wind or rain everyone even the Chinese idols that seemed to be at home and at their ease only Jeremy and his sisters were cared for by no one then suddenly a stout smiling woman appeared as though out of the floor and behind her a very frightened boy she spoke to Helen your Helen Cole are you not well dear here's Harry Preston want you to have a dance with him then turning to Mary are you dancing the next year no well we must alter that here's Willie Richmond Willie catching hold of a long and gawky boy you're not dancing the next are you I'm sure Miss Cole will be delighted then departed like a train that has picked up its passengers and is hurrying on to the next station the small boy gazed distressfully at Helen but she was quite equal to him smiling with that sweet smile that was kept entirely for strangers or important visitors and saying what is it oh a polka that will be lovely I do like polkas don't you at that moment the band struck up and in another instant the floor was covered with figures the tall gawky boy dragged off Mary who had said not a word but stared at him with distressed eyes through her spectacles Helen took absolute charge of her partner moving away with such grace and elegance that Jeremy was suddenly proud of her and seemed to see her as she really was for the first time in his life then he realized that he was alone absolutely alone stuck against the wall a silly gawk for all the world to look at and despise three he said his chin squared his nose and tried to look as though he were there by preference no one that now paid any attention to him the music swung on and although he had never danced in his life his toes kept time inside his shoes he gazed haughtily around him stared at the dancers as they passed him and was miserable then the stout lady who had carried off Mary and Helen suddenly appeared again and said what your Jeremy Cole aren't you come along I'll find you a partner he was led away and precipitated at the feet of a very stout lady who stared at him in a frozen way and a frightened little girl he had a program in his hands and was going to ask her for some future polka when the mountainous lady said in a deep bass voice better take her now she's been waving long enough staring at the genial introducer as she spoke Jeremy led away his victim he was acutely miserable but the agony of stumbling bumping and ingoerent twirling did not last long because the band suddenly stopped and before he knew it he was sitting on the steps of a staircase with his partner and staring at her she said not a word then he saw that she was terrified and pity held him do you like dances he asked hoarsely I've never been to one before she answered in a convulsive whisper looking as though she were about to cry where do you live he asked five pemberton terrace pollchester she answered breathlessly was that your mother no auntie how many aunts have you five what a lot I have only one and it's quite enough how many uncles have you I haven't got an uncle I have a splendid one do any of your aunts paint auntie ma does what does she paint I don't know he felt this conversation so stupid that he looked at her and discuss what was it about girls why was there something the matter with all of them if this was what dances were he didn't want any more of them and it was just then at that most distressing moment that the wonderful the never to be forgotten event occurred someone was coming down from the stairs above them and wanted to pass them a voice said softly to you mind thank you so much jeremy rose and then looked up he was staring at the most beautiful lady he had ever conceived of indeed far more than he had ever conceived of because his dreams had not hitherto been of beautiful ladies he had never thought of them at all she was very tall and slender dressed in white she had black hair and a jewel blazing in the front of it but more than everything was her smile the jolliest merriest twinkliest smile he had ever seen he could only smile too standing against the banisters to let her pass perhaps there was something in his snub nose and the way his mouth curled at the corners that struck her she stopped enjoying yourself she asked yes he answered staring at her with all his soul well come on she said there's the music beginning again that appeal may have been made to the general stair covered company but he felt that it was to him come on he said to his partner at the door of the ballroom he found to his relief the massive aunt thank you so much for the delightful dance he said bowing he had seen others do and then he bolted heaven was on his side because just inside the room and standing for a moment alone gazing happily about her was the lovely lady could he did he dare his heart was beating in his breast his knees trembled he felt as he did when he was summoned to old Thompson study but the fear she did to her drove him forward he was at her side I say is anybody dancing with you just now she swung round and looked down at him hello she said it's you yes he answered still choking I would like to dance with you well you shall she said and suddenly picked him up and whisked him round what happened after that he never knew once years before he escaped from home gone to the pollchester fair and ridden on the merry-go-round ridden on a wonderful cold black horse all alone under the stars something like that earlier experience was this exquisite happiness delicious movement in which the golden walls the blazing lights the glittering shining floor had their parts his feet kept no time they seemed scarcely to touch before but as the music dipped and swung so he also floating like a bird falling like the dying strain of a song rising like the flight of a star suddenly it ceased he came to earth breathless hot and most wonderfully happy she led him away holding his hand to a corner where there was a palm and a little tinkling fountain they seemed to be quite by themselves in the light she asked laughing and fanning herself with a great fan of white feathers he could not speak he gulped and nodded what's your name she asked he told her she smiled Jeremy that's a pretty name he blushed with pleasure do you go to school yet I expect you good at football how wonderful of her to know that to ask about the one game about it how he had played half-back twice for the school and had been kicked in the eye and hadn't cared and how next year he hoped to be the regular half-back because Trafousses, who had been half for three years, was going to eat and he was very young to be half he'd only be eleven then and he stayed on until he was thirteen I'm afraid that he boasted a little have you got any brothers and sisters she asked him he told her all about Mary and Helen father and Aunt Amy and Uncle Samuel especially about Uncle Samuel and while he talked he stared and stared and stared never taking his eyes from her face for a single moment she was laughing all the time and suddenly she said shall I tell you something Jeremy he nodded his head this is the very happiest day of my life I'm so happy that it's all I can do not to sing I'm very happy too I didn't think I'd like dances till you came but now they're splendid the cruel music suddenly began and there standing in front of them was a tall dark man very fine and straight the lady rose this is Jeremy she said and this is major Jeremy didn't catch the name he would wish to hate him for taking her away had he not looked so fine just in short what Jeremy would like to look when he grew up I tell you what the lady said turning around Jeremy you shall take me down to supper yes he shall Michael after all it's their evening not ours four dances from this that's right number eleven got it goodbye she was gone and Jeremy was staring around him as though in a dream four four dances from now to two meanwhile to dance with anyone else would be desecration suddenly Tommy Winchester appeared I say he wheezed in his funny voice like miniature organ blowers have you been down to supper yet I've been down four times you should see the ices they've got ices after the experience he'd been having nevertheless he was interested where are they he asked down there said Tommy that's the back stairs and you can go down as often as you please and nobody sees at that moment there came around the corner the supercilious figure of the deans Ernest he was very elegant more elegant as Jeremy was forced to confess than himself would ever be hello you fellows said Ernest he was twelve and was going next year to rugby it was irritating the way that he was always with Jeremy and everything I call it pretty rotten he said smoothing his gloves the band's not first class and the floor's awful well I think it splendid said Jeremy oh do you said Ernest scornfully you would ever been to a dance before yes lots said Jeremy and it was to be hoped that heaven will forgive him that lie well it's my belief that it's his first said Ernest eventually to Tommy what a kid like that's doing away from his nerves I can't think nevertheless he moved away because Jeremy had grown remarkably thick and sturdy during the last year and had already in Paul Chester a pugnacious reputation I say said Tommy who seemed to have been long ago forced by his appearance of good nature chubbiness into the role of perpetual peacemaker you can get to the supper down there on the stairs you should see the ices they've got I've been four times have they said the deans Ernest his shallow countenance freshening can you get down that way you bet said Tommy come on then they disappeared Jeremy was rather distressed by this encounter Ernest had had the last word he wished that he had been able to say sucks to you was applicable to almost every occasion never mind the opportunity would undoubtedly return such an episode should not cloud his happiness he seemed to be moving clouded by the great white fan that she had used that hid him from the rest of the world he did indeed dance with Helen and would have danced with Mary could he have found her he danced also with the little girl with spots stunned with the light from Juneau's eyes it was an utterly new experience to him he could compare it with nothing at all save the day when Stevens the football captain had said he had stood it well over his eye and once when he had gone to have a tooth out and the dentist hadn't taken it after all and this again was different from those it was like hot coffee and summer lightning as they fell from the autumn trees not that he made these comparisons consciously of course most of all it was like a dream the most wonderful of all his nights the third dance was over he must go and find her five he stepped along the floor looking about him from side to side he thought he saw her started forward and felt someone touch him on the arm Mary was at his shoulder hello he said I'm in a hurry oh Jeremy do wait a minute she looked at him piteously well what is it come out here for a moment please do he did not want to hurt her but this pause was an agony to him what is it he asked Crossley when they were in the hall outside the ballroom oh Jeremy it's all so horrid do dance with me one little boy danced with me make him dance again and he wouldn't and I'm sure it wasn't my fault because I danced much better than he did and then Herbert said he could dance and he couldn't and we fell down and he didn't seem to mind at all but I minded because everybody laughed and I tore my dress and there hasn't been anybody to dance with forever so long and Helen's been dancing all the time oh Jeremy do dance with me I do love dancing so you haven't danced with me all the evening it was true that he had not but oh how he wished her at the other end of England at that moment she looked so foolish with her hair all over the place and her dress untidy her sash pulled down the wrong way and her stockings wrinkled and every moment was precious she would be looking for him wondering where he was thinking him mean thus to break his promise when she had given him so special a fever at that thought he started away no no Mary later on will have a dance do if you like but not now I can't really but Mary was desperate oh Jeremy you must I can't sit here anymore and be looked at by everyone oh please Jeremy I'll give you my mother of pearl box if you will I don't want your old box he said roughly he looked at her looked away looked back at her said all right then come on his heart was like lead the evening was ruined for him and not only the evening but perhaps his whole life and yet what was he to do Mary would cry if he left her she had had a miserable evening something in him was touched as it always was by her confident belief that he and he alone in all the world could always put things right it was just his cursed luck his evening was ruined he hoped that after this they would go home they had what seemed to him the most miserable of dances but he could see that Mary was what Uncle Samuel called seventh heaven she bounced about stamping her heels on Jeremy's toes bumping into him suddenly pushing back her wild hair from her frenzied face giving little snorts of pleasure humping her shoulders tossing her head round and round they went dancing what they imagined to be a polka Jeremy with his face grimly said agonized disappointment in his heart when it was over they sat out on the stairs and Mary panted her thanks that was lovely Jeremy we do dance well together don't we that was the nicest I've ever had hope we'll have another I expect it's awfully late said Jeremy gloomily we'll be going home soon soon the music began again and at the bottom of the stairs to Jeremy's immense relief they met Mrs. Carr Stairs with the serious phased Herbert that's right Mary dear Mrs. Carr Stairs said I've been looking for you it's time we went down to supper Herbert will take us down he was looking for us and was off with beating heart he searched the crowds nowhere nowhere he searched the fast emptying ballroom then the hall then with tears in his eyes and a choked strangling in his throat was turning back when he caught sight of the diamond star high above the other heads and the lovely soft black hair the jolly smile traitor she said you forgot after all no I didn't forget it was my sister but there was no time for explanation did you go with someone else to supper yes I've had supper oh you have turned away a tear was near its fall I suppose you couldn't uh oh yes I could she twirled him around I can have any number of suppers I can have supper all day and supper all night come along you shall take me down in style doors like that see no the right now we lead the way who's coming down to supper his pride and his happiness who shall describe them his back was so straight as they walked down the stairs that he almost fell backwards the supper room was a clatter of noise but he was not so proud but that he was suddenly hungry wildly savagely hungry she piled his plate with things watching him laughing at him nobody's cut the cake yet she cried you shall cut it Jeremy an old stout servant with white hair who had been watching her with smiling eyes brought a huge castle with towers and battlements and flags and placed it in front of her she made Jeremy stand on his chair she gave him a great knife and showed him where to cut everyone at the other table stopped eating and turned around to see and then they shouted and clapped one two three he cried and cut into the cake then they all cheered bravo she said you did that very well now Janet will cut the rest you must have a piece and I must have a piece perhaps one of us will get the ring or the thimble and miracle of miracles he got the ring the silver ring she put it on his finger herself he flushed his lip trembled and felt that he wanted everything to end just then at that moment for nothing more ever to happen again when he had had three ices one after the other she decided that supper was over they walked out of the room as they had walked into it in stately fashion her arm through his then at the top of the stairs there was Mrs. Carr Stairs come Jeremy dear he saw that the tall major was there also hello young and he said had a good supper he nodded his head but he had eyes only for her I'm glad I got that ring he whispered because you put it on my finger and I'll never take it off till I die not even when you wash she asked laughing I won't wash that finger he said the major put his hand on his shoulder here I've got a secret for you shut your eyes Jeremy shut them the major's hands were at his white waistcoat pocket now don't you look till you're on your way home then I'll tell you something you've shown excellent taste tonight you couldn't have shown better if you were a hundred she bent down and kissed him good night she said will you write and tell me about the football you bet your life he answered staring at her that was the favorite oath then at Thompson's she laughed again then bending down whispered in his ear dramatically if I'm ever in trouble and need you will you come wherever you are whatever you're doing oh yes he said his eyes never leaving her face she kissed him again six they were all in the cab rolling home words he felt in his pocket something there in paper he could tell by the feel of it that it was a sovereign or a shilling cautiously he lifted it to the light of the lodge lights it was gold he sighed with satisfaction but the real thing was the silver ring he sat there making calculations Mrs. Carstairs he said suddenly if I have three pence a week for eight years and save it all could I have enough to be married there was no answer she was apparently sleeping at a soto voce and perhaps father will give me six pence a week after I'm fifteen end of chapter three