the whole place grew and expanded in his hands, until
there is hardly a detail, indoors or out-of-doors, which does not show
some trace of his fancy and his touch.

There were some strange old traditions about the house; it was said to
be haunted, and more than one of his guests had inexplicable experiences
there. It was also said that there was a hidden treasure concealed in or
about it. That treasure Hugh certainly discovered, in the delight which
he took in restoring, adorning, and laying it all out. It was a source
of constant joy to him in his life. And there, in the midst of it all,
his body lies.

II

CHILDHOOD

I very well remember the sudden appearance of Hugh in the nursery world,
and being conducted into a secluded dressing-room, adjacent to the
nursery, where the tiny creature lay, lost in contented dreams, in a
big, white-draped, white-hooded cradle. It was just a rather pleasing
and exciting event to us children, not particularly wonderful or
remarkable. It was at Wellington College that he was born, in the
Master's Lodge, in a sunny bedroom, in the south-east corner of the
house; one of its windows looking to the south front of the college and
the chapel with its slender spire; the other window looking over the
garden and a waste of heather beyond, to the fir-crowned hill of
Ambarrow. My father had been Headmaster for twelve years and was
nearing the end of his time there; and I was myself nine years old, and
shortly to go to a private school, where my elder brother Martin already
was. My two sisters, Nelly and Maggie, were respectively eight and six,
and my brother, Fred, was four--six in all.

And by a freak of memory I recollect, too, that at breakfast on the
following morning my father--half-shyly, half-proudly, I
thought--announced the fact of Hugh's birth to the boys whom he had
asked in, as his custom was, to breakfast, and how they offered
embarrassed congratulations, not being sure, I suppose, exactly what the
right phrase was.

Then came the christening, which took place at Sandhurst Church, a mile
or two away, to which we walked by the pine-clad hill of Edgebarrow and
the heathery moorland known as Cock-a-Dobbie. Mr. Parsons was the
clergyman--a little handsome old man, like an abbe, with a clear-cut
face and thick white hair. I am afraid that the ceremony had no
religious significance for me at that time, but I was deeply
interested, thought it rather cruel, and was shocked at