nt in order to watch a man in a uniform, sitting on a wooden
chair and reading a pink newspaper. He also read the names of people who
were either out or in, and settled, when he was older, to live in a flat
in the security of many other families and a man in a green uniform. The
roar of the Hammersmith Road burst upon him, and dreams were over for a
while, as he hurried along past eight shops, at none of which he would
dare to look since he read in a book of a boy who had been taken off to
the police station on a charge of theft, though he was actually as
innocent as Michael himself and was merely interested by the contents of
a shop window. The next turning to Carlington Road was a queer terrace,
very quiet except that it overlooked the railway, very quiet and
melancholy and somehow wicked. Nothing ever turned down here except an
occasional dog or cat; no servants stood gossiping by area-gates, and at
the end of it loomed the tumble-down house whose garden Michael had
already seen near the post office. He used to think as he left Padua
Terrace behind him that one day for a great adventure he would like to
walk along under its elm-trees to discover if anyone did live in those
dark houses; but he never managed to be brave enough to do so. Michael
now crossed the railway bridge and looked at the advertisements: then
followed a dull line of iron railings with rusty pineapples on top of
each of them. These were bounded at each end by gates that were marked
'Private. No Thoroughfare,' and after the second gate came the first
crossing. Michael had been told to be very careful of crossings, and he
used to poise himself on the kerb for a moment to see if any carts were
near. If none were even in sight, he used to run across as quickly as he
could. There were three other crossings before Earl's Court Road was
reached, and one of them was so wide that he was very glad indeed when
it was put behind him. All the way, terrace after terrace of grim
houses, set back from the high road behind shrubberies, had to be
passed, and all the way Michael used to hum to himself for company and
diversion and encouragement. The only interesting event was a
pavement-artist, and he was very often not there. It was an exasperating
and monotonous walk, and he hated it for the gloom it shed upon all his
afternoons.

Sometimes Michael would arrive home before Nanny, and then he would have
to endure a long cross-examination upon his route. The walk was n