the drawing-room at Dariawarpur.

Theatricals had been towards and Mummy was acting, and people came to
practise their songs with her, for not only did she sing herself
delightfully, but she played accompaniments well for other people. The
play was a singing play, and the Assistant Superintendent of Police, a
small, fair young man with next to no voice and a very clear
enunciation, continually practised a song that described someone as
walking "down Piccadilly with a tulip or a lily in his mediaeval hand."

Tony rather liked "mediaeval" too, but not so much as Piccadilly. A
flowery way, he was sure, with real grass in it like the Resident's
garden. Besides, the "dilly" suggested "daffy-down dilly come up to town
in a yellow petticoat and a green gown."

But not even Piccadilly could compete with Coln St. Aldwyn's in Tony's
affections. There was something about that suggestive of exquisite peace
and loveliness, no mosquitoes and many friendly beasts. He had only
heard the word once by chance in connection with the mysterious place
called Home, in some casual conversation when no one thought he was
listening. He seized upon it instantly and it became a priceless
possession, comforting in times of stress, soothing at all times, a sort
of refuge from a real world that had lately been very puzzling for a
little boy.

He was certain that at Coln St. Aldwyn's there was a mighty forest
peopled by all the nicest animals. Dogs that were ever ready to extend a
welcoming paw, elephants and mild clumsy buffaloes that gave good milk
to the thirsty. Little grey squirrels frolicked in the branches of the
trees, and the tiny birds Mummy told him about that lived in the yew
hedge at Wren's End. Tony had himself been to Wren's End he was told,
but he was only one at the time, and beyond a feeling that he liked the
name and that it was a very green place his ideas about it were hazy.

Sometimes he wished it had been called "Wren St. Endwyn's," but after
mature reflection he decided it was but a poor imitation of the real
thing, so he kept the two names separate in his mind.

He had added two more names to his collection since he came to Bombay.
"Mahaluxmi," the road running beside the sea, where Peter sometimes took
them and Auntie Jan for a drive after tea when it was high tide; and
"Taraporevala," who owned a famous book-shop in Medow Street where he
had once been in a tikka-gharri with Auntie Jan to get some books for
Mummy. Peter