politely. He did not know what was the matter. Had the Jampot not told
him about school he would at this very moment be playing most happily
with his village. It spread out there before him on the nursery floor,
the Noah family engaged upon tea in the orchard, the butcher staring
with fixed gaze from the door of his shop, three cows and a sheep
absorbed in the architecture of the church.

He sighed, then said again: "Perhaps Pirates would be better."

Still Helen did not reply. He abandoned the attempted control of his
passions.

"It's very rude," he said, "not to answer when gentlemen speak to you."

"I don't see any gentlemen," answered Helen quietly, without raising her
eyes, which was, as she knew, a provoking habit.

"Yes, you do," almost screamed Jeremy. "I'm one."

"You're not," continued Helen; "you're only eight. Gentlemen must be
over twenty like Father or Mr. Jellybrand."

"I hate Mr. Jellybrand and I hate you," replied Jeremy.

"I don't care," said Helen.

"Yes, you do," said Jeremy, then suddenly, as though even a good quarrel
were not worth while on this heavily burdened afternoon, he said gently:
"You might play Pirates, Helen. You can be Sir Roger."

"I've got this to finish."

"It's a dirty old thing," continued Jeremy, pursuing an argument, "and
it'll be dirtier soon, and the Jampot says you do all the stitches
wrong. I wish I was at school."

"I wish you were," said Helen.

There was a pause after this. Jeremy went sadly back to his window-seat.
Mary felt that her moment had arrived. Sniffing, as was her habit when
she wanted something very badly, she said in a voice that was little
more than a whisper:

"It would be fun, wouldn't it, perhaps if I read something, Jeremy?"

Jeremy was a gentleman, although he was only eight. He looked at her and
saw behind the spectacles eyes beseeching his permission.

"Well, it wouldn't be much fun," he said, "but it's all beastly this
afternoon, anyway."

"Can I sit on the window too?" asked Mary.

"Not too close, because it tickles my ear, but you can if you like."

She hurried across to the bookshelf. "There's 'Stumps' and 'Rags and
Tatters,' and 'Engel the Fearless,' and 'Herr Baby' and 'Alice' and--"

"'Alice' is best," said Jeremy, sighing. "You know it better than the
others." He curled himself into a corner of the window-seat. From his
position there he had a fine view. Immediately below him was the garden,
white and grey under the gr