when I'm lying in bed I can't see the cat, but I
can see the top of its tail sailing along the edge of the bed. But if I
sit up I can see all the cat, and that spoils it, so I don't sit up at
first."

The child was eager for Edwin to understand his pleasure in horizontal
motion that had no apparent cause, like the tip of a cat's tail on the
horizon of a bed, or the roof of a tram-car on the horizon of the wall.
And Edwin was eager to understand, and almost persuaded himself that he
did understand; but he could not be sure. A marvellous child--
disconcerting! He had a feeling of inferiority to the child, because
the child had seen beauty where he had not dreamed of seeing it.

"Want a swing," he suggested, "before I have to go off to business?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THREE.

When it occurred to him that he had had as much violent physical
exercise as was good for his years, and that he had left his books in
disarray, and that his business demanded him, Edwin apologetically
announced that he must depart, and the child admitted that Aunt Janet
was probably waiting to give him his lessons.

"Are you going back the way you came? You'd better. It's always best,"
said Edwin.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

He lifted and pushed the writhing form on to the wall, dislodging a jar,
which crashed dully on the ground.

"Auntie Janet told me I could have them to do what I liked with. So I
break them," said George, "when they don't break themselves!"

"I bet she never told you to put them on this wall," said Edwin.

"No, she didn't. But it was the best place for aiming. And she told me
it didn't matter how many crocks I broke, because they make crocks here.
Do they, really?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because there's clay here," said Edwin glibly.

"Where?"

"Oh! Round about."

"White, like that?" exclaimed George eagerly, handling a teapot without
a spout. He looked at Edwin: "Will you take me to see it? I should
like to see white ground."

"Well," said Edwin, more cautiously, "the clay they get about here isn't
exactly white."

"Then do they make it white?"

"As a matter of fact the white clay comes from a long way off--Cornwall,
for instance."

"Then why do they make the things here?" George persisted; with the
annoying obstinacy of his years. He had turned the teapot upside down.
"This was made here. It's got `Bursley' on it. Auntie Janet showed
me."