amuel thought it bad of him not to thank him?

He was lost in such considerations when the Jampot inquired of him the
way that their walk should take--it was his choice because it was his
Birthday. He had no choice. There was one walk that far exceeded all
others in glory, straight down Orange Street, straight again through the
Market, past the Assembly Rooms and the Town Hall, past the flower and
fruit stalls, and the old banana woman under the green umbrella and
the toy stall with coloured balloons, the china dogs and the nodding
donkeys, up the High Street, into the cobble-stones of the Close, whence
one could look down, between the houses on to the orchards, round the
Cathedral with the meadows, Pol Meads sloping down to the river, so
through Orchard Lane into Orange Street once again.

Such a walk combined every magic and delight known to the heart of man,
but it was not generally allowed, because Jeremy would drag past the
shops, the stalls in the Market Place and the walk behind the Cathedral,
whence one might sometimes see boats on the river, sheep and cows in the
meads, and, in their proper season, delight of delights--lambs.

They set out...

Thirty years ago the winter weather in Polchester was wonderful. Now,
of course, there are no hard winters, no frost, no snow, no waits, no
snowmen, and no skating on the Pol. Then there were all those things.
To-day was of a hard, glittering frost; the sun, like a round, red
lacquer tray, fell heavily, slowly through a faint pale sky that was
not strong enough to sustain it. The air had the cold, sweet twang of
peppermints in the throat. Polchester was a painted town upon a blue
screen, the Cathedral towers purple against the sky; the air was scented
with burning leaves, and cries from the town rose up clear and hard,
lingering and falling like notes of music. Somewhere they were playing
football, and the shouting was distant and regular like the tramp of
armed men. "Three" struck the Cathedral clock, as though it were calling
"Open Sesame." Other lesser clocks repeated the challenge cry through
the town. "Woppley--Woppley--Why!" sung the man who was selling skins
down Orange Street. The sky, turning slowly from blue to gold, shone
mysteriously through the glass of the street lamps, and the sun began to
wrap itself in tints of purple and crocus and iris.

"Woppley--Woppley--Why!" screamed the skin-man suddenly appearing at the
top of the street.

"Now 'urry, Master