ent that they afforded, any symptoms of character and
liveliness, and simply evaded the improving portion, which blew like a
dry wind over his spirit. When his father talked over the books with
the child, he listened tolerantly to the boy's amusement at how the
cake had rolled down the hill, or how the little pig had got into the
garden; but he was disappointed that the boy seemed not to care whether
the stone which Harry threw described a parabola or not, though there
was an odious diagram to explain it, full of dotted lines and curves.
Yet the boy held on his way, deaf to all that did not move him or
interest him, and fixing jealously on all that fed his fancy. Such
books as _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ and _Masterman Ready_ were wells of
delight, enacted as they were in a strange and exciting world; and he
was sensitive, too, to the beauty of metre and sonorous phrases,
learning poetry so easily that it was supposed to be a species of
wilfulness in him that the Collects and texts, and the very
Psalms--that seemed to him so unreal and husk-like then, and that later
became to him like fruits full of refreshment and savour and sweet
juices--found their way so slowly into his memory, and were so easily
forgotten.

II

The Schoolmaster--School Life--Companions

The time came for Hugh to go to school. He drifted, it seemed to him
afterwards, with a singular indifference and apathy of mind, into the
new life, though the parting from home was one of dumb misery; not that
he cared deeply, as a softer-hearted child might have cared, at being
parted from his father, his mother, his sisters. People, even those
nearest to the boy, were still only a part of the background of life, a
little nearer perhaps, but hardly dearer, hardly more important than
trees and flowers, except that a greater part of his life was spent
with them. But the last afternoon in the familiar scene--it was a hot,
bright September day--tried the boy's fortitude to the uttermost. He
felt as though the trees and walks would almost miss his greeting and
presence--and what was the saddest part of all to him was that he could
not be sure of this. Was the world that he loved indifferent to him?
Did it perhaps not heed him, not even perceive him? He had always
fancied that these trees and flowers had a species of sight, that they
watched him, the trees shyly out of their green foliage, the flowers
with their bright unshrinking gaze. The tallest trees s