On Christmas afternoon, when three o’clock had just struck from the church tower, Hugh and Mr. Pidgen met, as though by some conspirator’s agreement, by the garden gate.  They had said nothing to one another and yet there they were; they both glanced anxiously back at the house and then Mr. Pidgen said: 

“Suppose we take a walk.”

“Thank you very much,” said Hugh.  “Tea isn’t till half-past four.”

“Very well, then, suppose you lead the way.”  They walked a little, and then Hugh said:  “I was there yesterday, in the study, when you talked all that about your books, and everything.”  The words came from him in little breathless gusts because he was excited.

Mr. Pidgen stopped and looked upon him.  “Thunder and sunshine!  You don’t say so!  What under heaven were you doing?”

“I was reading, and you came in and then I was interested.”

“Well?”

Hugh dropped his voice.

“I understood all that you meant.  I’d like to read your books if I may.  We haven’t any in the house.”

“Bless my soul!  Here’s some one wants to read my books!” Mr. Pidgen was undoubtedly pleased.  “I’ll send you some.  I’ll send you them all!”

Hugh gasped with pleasure.  “I’ll read them all, however many there are!” he said excitedly.  “Every word.”

“Well,” said Mr. Pidgen, “that’s more than any one else has ever done.”

“I’d rather be with you,” said the boy very confidently, “than Mr. Lasher.  I’d rather write stories than preach sermons that no one wants to listen to.”  Then more timidly he continued:  “I know what you meant about the man who comes when you’re a baby.  I remember him quite well, but I never can say anything because they’d say I was silly.  Sometimes I think he’s still hanging round only he doesn’t come to the vicarage much.  He doesn’t like Mr. Lasher much, I expect.  But I do remember him.  He had a beard and I used to think it funny the nurse didn’t see him.  That was before we went to Ceylon, you know, we used to live in Polchester then.  When it was nearly dark and not quite he’d be there.  I forgot about him in Ceylon, but since I’ve been here I’ve wondered ... it’s sometimes like some one whispering to you and you know if you turn round he won’t be there, but he is there all the same.  I made twenty-five last summer against Porthington Grammar; they’re not much good really, and it was our second eleven, and I was nearly out second ball; anyway I made twenty-five, and afterwards as I was ragging about I suddenly thought of him.  I know he was pleased.  If it had been a little darker I believe I’d have seen him.  And then last night, after I was in bed and was thinking about what you’d said I know he was near the window, only I didn’t look lest he should go away.  But of course Mr. Lasher would say that’s all rot, like the pirates, only I know it isn’t.”  Hugh broke off for lack of breath, nothing else would have stopped him.  When he was encouraged he was a terrible talker.  He suddenly added in a sharp little voice like the report from a pistol:  “So one can’t be lonely or anything, can one, if there’s always some one about?”