ay and night? For long he stood,
disconsolate, in the little dark greenhouse among the images of his
beasts, the letter in his hand.

He stole out presently, and got down to the river unobserved.
Comforting--that crisp, gentle sound of water; ever so comforting to sit
on a stone, very still, and wait for things to happen round you. You
lost yourself that way, just became branches, and stones, and water, and
birds, and sky. You did not feel such a beast. Gordy would never
understand why he did not care for fishing--one thing trying to catch
another--instead of watching and understanding what things were. You
never got to the end of looking into water, or grass or fern; always
something queer and new. It was like that, too, with yourself, if you
sat down and looked properly--most awfully interesting to see things
working in your mind.

A soft rain had begun to fall, hissing gently on the leaves, but he had
still a boy's love of getting wet, and stayed where he was, on the stone.
Some people saw fairies in woods and down in water, or said they did;
that did not seem to him much fun. What was really interesting was
noticing that each thing was different from every other thing, and what
made it so; you must see that before you could draw or model decently.
It was fascinating to see your creatures coming out with shapes of their
very own; they did that without your understanding how. But this
vacation he was no good--couldn't draw or model a bit!

A jay had settled about forty yards away, and remained in full view,
attending to his many-coloured feathers. Of all things, birds were the
most fascinating! He watched it a long time, and when it flew on,
followed it over the high wall up into the park. He heard the lunch-bell
ring in the far distance, but did not go in. So long as he was out there
in the soft rain with the birds and trees and other creatures, he was
free from that unhappy feeling of the morning. He did not go back till
nearly seven, properly wet through, and very hungry.

All through dinner he noticed that Sylvia seemed to be watching him, as
if wanting to ask him something. She looked very soft in her white
frock, open at the neck; and her hair almost the colour of special
moonlight, so goldy-pale; and he wanted her to understand that it wasn't
a bit because of her that he had been out alone all day. After dinner,
when they were getting the table ready to play 'red nines,' he did
murmur:

"Did