life, would be the very person to involve in
the materialization. He would say nothing to anybody else; not even
would he mention the idea to Pauline herself. These sanguine dreams
occupied his evenings prosperously enough, while March swept past with
searing winds from Muscovy that skimmed the rich earth of the plow-lands
with a dusty pallor, tarnished the daffodils, and seemed to crack the
very bird-song. Guy, however, with every day either a day nearer to
seeing Pauline again or the day itself, did not care about the wind that
blew, and he was as happy walking on the uplands as the spindle-shanked
hares that sported among the turfy mounds.

Later, the shrilling wind from the east surrendered to the booming of
the equinox. Louder than before the weather beat against Guy's house
from the opposite quarter. Chimneys groaned like broken horns, and after
a desperate gale even deaf Miss Peasey complained that she had heard the
wind once or twice in the night, and that her bedroom had seemed a bit
draughty. Guy discovered that several tiles had been blown from the
roof, so that through the lath and plaster above her head there was a
sound of demoniac fife-playing. Then the wind dropped; the rain poured
down; but at last on Lady Day morning Guy woke up to see a rich sky
between white magnificent clouds, a gentle breeze, and a letter from his
father.

FOX HALL, GALTON, HANTS,
_March 24th_.

DEAR GUY,--I send you this with the third instalment of the L150.
Please let me have a prompter acknowledgment than last time, when,
I remember, you kept me waiting nearly three weeks. I am glad to
have news of successful experiments in verse-making, but I should
be much more glad to hear that you had made up your mind to make
them as an accessory to a regular profession. You will notice that
I do not attempt to influence your choice in this matter, and so I
hope you will not retort with invidious comparisons between
literature and the teaching of small boys.

No, I do not remember a man called Grey in my time at Oxford, but
I do remember a man of the same name as ours at Trinity. He came
to grief, I believe, later on. You must assure your friend that
this was not myself. I am glad you find the Rector and his wife
such pleasant people. Have they any children? I wish I could say
as much for the new Vicar of Galton, who is a pompous nincompoop
and has in