athered, if there
was one lonely boy in the world, languidly despairing, it was I.
Many times I found myself uttering aloud such slang expressions as:
"Oh, my hat! If only I had told the beastly truth for the third
time! Dash it, why didn't I? Why the deuce didn't I?" I addressed
myself as: "You blithering, blithering fool!" And my temples began
to ache and now and then to hammer. For, always in these my early
days of puberty, excitement and worry produced such immediate
sensuous results.

Radley sent for me at last, and it was a relief to go. He was very
kind. Frankly, I believe he was pleased to have his new favourite in
his room again. I was indeed his hobby at present.

"Have I ever bullied you at the nets," he said, "for stepping back
to a straight ball?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, the universal habit of 'stepping back' is exactly parallel to
that of arguing with conscience. The habit grows; one's wicket
always falls after a few straight balls; and one's batting goes from
bad to worse. Never mind, you stood up splendidly to the first two
straight balls and scored boundaries off both. That shows you are
getting into your old form. You are out of practice a bit, that's
all."

And I went out of his room, feeling sure that for some time I would
be very good.

Sec.7

I always left Radley's room, feeling that I could blast a way
through every mountain. And it was not long after he had received my
mother's letter with its allusion to my lack of a father, that he
addressed himself to a bigger mountain than any of these little
trumpery hills that you have watched me conquering. He invited me to
his room one evening, and sat me in an armchair opposite him: and
then he talked, while I watched the fire getting redder, as the room
grew darker. Soon he came unhesitatingly to a subject that I was
just at an age to understand. He spoke so fearlessly as to be quite
unrestrained and natural. Nevertheless, I was glad that the room was
getting darker, as I felt that my cheeks were red and hot. And when
he said: "You mustn't mind my talking to you like this," I could
only reply: "Oh, it's all right, sir."

But, once again, I left his room feeling that, though already I had
had my reverses in the moral contest of which he spoke, I would win
through in the end.

CHAPTER VI

AN INTERLUDE

In the summer holidays of that year I received a letter from Doe
inviting me to spend a few days with him at his Cornish home on t