er that something extraordinary was going to happen
tomorrow. Perhaps they were all secretly relieved that he was off. He
had been, he knew, something of a failure during these last months; one
trouble after another; the scandal of his visit to the Fair as the grand
finale. He felt that there was, in some way, some injustice in all this.
He had no desire to be bad or rebellious--on the contrary he wished to
do all that his elders ordered him--but he could not prevent the rising
of his own individuality, which showed him quite clearly whether he
should do a thing or no. It was as though something inside him pushed
him... whereas they, all of them, only checked him.

He loved his mother best, and he was secretly disappointed to find
how ordinary an affair his departure was to her. He realised, with a
perception that was beyond his years, that the infant Barbara was now
rapidly occupying the position, as centre of the family, that he
had held. Barbara, everyone declared, was a charming baby--the house
revolved, to some extent, round Barbara. But, then again, this isolation
was entirely his own fault. During the summer holidays he had gone his
own way, and had wanted no one but Hamlet as his companion. He had no
right to complain.

After breakfast he did not know quite what to do, and it was obvious,
also, that no one knew quite what to do with him.

Mrs. Cole said: "Jeremy, dear, Ponting has never sent that letter paper
and envelopes that he promised, and Father must have them to-day. Would
you go down and bring them back with you? Father will write a note."

No one seemed to realise what an abysmal change from earlier conditions
this casual sentence marked. That he should go to Footing's, which was
on the farther side of the town, alone and unattended, seemed to no one
peculiar; and yet, only six months ago, a walk without Miss Jones was
undreamt of; and, before her, no more than nine months back, there was
the Jampot! He was delighted to go; but, of course, he did not show his
delight.

All he said was: "Yes, Mother."

He was in his new clothes: stiff black jacket, black knickerbockers,
black stockings, black boots. No more navy suits with white braid and
whistles! Perhaps he would see the Dean's Ernest. It was his most urgent
desire!

He started off, accompanied by a barking, bounding Hamlet, who showed
no perception of the calamity that threatened to tumble upon him. For
Jeremy, leaving Hamlet was a dreadful af