It seemed to Jeremy that he had never been in the Cathedral before; he stood there, breathless, as though in a moment something must inevitably happen. Although he did not think of it, the moment was one of a sequence that had come to him during the year--his entry into the theatre with his uncle, his first conversation with the sea-captain, the hour when his mother had been so ill, the evening on the beach when Charlotte had been frightened, the time when Hamlet had been lost and he had slept with him under a tree. All these moments had been something more than merely themselves, had had something behind them or inside them for which simply they stood as words stand for pictures. He analysed, of course, nothing, being a perfectly healthy small boy, but if afterwards he looked back these were the moments that he saw as one sees stations on a journey. One day he would know for what they stood. He simply now waited there as though he expected something to happen. Thoughts slipped through his mind quite casually, whether Hamlet were behaving well outside, what the old lady did when she was tired of dusting, who the stone figure lying near him might be, a figure very fine with his ruff and his peaked beard, his arms folded, his toes pointing upwards, whether the body were inside the stone like a mummy, or underneath the ground some-where; how strangely different the nave looked now from its Sunday show, and what fun it would be to run races all the way down and see who could reach the golden angels over the reredos first; he felt no reverence, and yet a deep reverence, no fear, but, nevertheless, awe; he was warm and happy and comfortable, and yet suddenly, giving a little shudder, he slipped out into the sunlight, released Hamlet and started for home. II Back again in the bosom of his family he felt that they were beginning to be aware of his departure. “What shall we do this evening, Jeremy--your last evening?” said his mother. Everyone looked at him. “Oh, I don't know,” he said uncomfortably. “Just as usual, I suppose.” “You're making him feel uncomfortable,” said Aunt Amy, who loved to explain quite obvious things. “You want it to be just an ordinary evening, dear, don't you?” “Oh, I don't know,” he said again, hating his aunt. “I don't think that quite the way to speak to your aunt, my son,” said his father. “We only inquire out of kindness, thinking to please you. No, Mary, no more. Friday--one helping--” “Jeremy might have another as it's his last day, I suggest,” said Aunt Amy, who was determined to be pleasant. “I don't want any, thank you,” said Jeremy, although it was treacle pudding, which he loved. “Well, I think,” said Mrs. Cole, “that we'll have high tea at half-past seven, and the children shall stay up afterwards and we'll have 'Midshipman Easy.'”