ks, tulips, nasturtiums, pansies, lilies of the valley,
roses, honeysuckle, sweet-williams, stocks--I remember them all at their
different seasons in that muddled, absurd profusion. I can smell them
now, can see them in their fluttering colours, the great grey wall of
the Cathedral, with its high carved door and watching saints behind me,
the sun beating on to the cobbles, the muffled beat of the summer day,
the sleepy noises of the town, the pigeons cutting the thin, papery blue
into arcs and curves and circles, the little lattice-windowed houses,
with crooked chimneys and shining doors, smiling down upon me. I can
smell, too, that especial smell that belonged to those summer hours, a
smell of dried blotting-paper, of corn and poppies from the fields, of
cobble-stones and new-baked bread and lemonade; and behind the warmth
and colour the cool note of the Cathedral bell echoed through the town,
down the High Street, over the meads, across the river, out into the
heart of the dark woods and the long spaces of the summer fields. I can
see myself, too, toiling up the High Street, my cap on the back of my
head, little beads of perspiration on my forehead, and my eyes always
gazing into the air, so that I stumbled over the cobbles and knocked
against doorsteps. All these things had to do with Miss Maddison's
parly, and it was always her party that marked the beginning of them
for us; she waited for the fine weather, and so soon as it came the
invitations were sent out, the flower-beds were trimmed, the little
green wooden seats under the mulberry tree were cleaned, and Poupee, the
black poodle, was clipped.

It happened this year that Miss Maddison gave her party during the
very week that Mr. and Mrs. Cole went to Drymouth. She sent out her
invitations only three days before the great event, because the summer
had come with so fine a rush. "Master Jeremy and the Misses Cole...
Would they give Miss Maddison the pleasure...?" Yes, of course they
would. Aunt Amy would take them.

On the morning of the great day Jeremy poured the contents of his
watering-can upon Aunt Amy's head. It was a most unfortunate accident,
arranged obviously by a malignant fate. Jeremy had been presented with
a pot of pinks, and these, every morning, he most faithfully watered. He
had a bright-red watering-can, bought with his own money, and, because
it held more water than the pinks needed, he was in the daily habit of
emptying the remnant in a glitte